Blood in the Streets
by nicholasakira
Summary: When orks invade the city of Essendrav it falls to the Imperial Guard to push them back. But what dark secrets are buried in Essendrav's past that now arise to threaten its present? And who is Mhal Dannit?
1. Undercover Traitor

He stalked through the corridor of the underground complex, powerful, with a ramrod-straight spine and eyes that burned with hate. Behind him, two faceless men marched, their chests marked with the insignia of the His holy inquisition, their eyepieces red in the unlit mess of this rat's home of a hideout. He took no notice of them, nor of the two others who saluted him as he stalked into the hollowed out storage unit that the resistance fighters called a mess hall. Somewhere above ground, a shell exploded. The lights flickered and some dust drizzled from the low ceiling. With the arrogance of a king, he stood before the condemned, looking at the crowd of dirty rat-men surrounded by yet more faceless inquisitorial troops. These resistance fighters, they had once been his friends. He had once been with them, and the PDF and guard units they were with. But his agenda was well beyond the battle for this petty city.

"You will talk now," he demanded, his voice stiff and unforgiving. "Where is Mhal Dannit?" He looked at these dirty men, dressed in the rags that had been flak jackets and civilian clothes. A few still wore their dented helmets. "Have you not been told?" he looked uncertainly at the men of the inquisition. "Have you not been told about the new status of Mhal Dannit?" Pause. "Well? Where is he?"

"You're wasting your time," said Lystartro as he stood to his feet. "You know, I thought you were better than this. Selling us out…" He looked at Lystartro with such intensity that even the seasoned Imperial Guardsman went silent.

"I did not…" he paused, "sell you out," he said, with emphasis on each word. "I was always with the inquisition. I was always watching and I saw heresy." He looked across the table. "And you have all committed heresy. If you do not hand over Mhal Dannit, I will see you all shot as traitors right here."

"Hey! HEY!" Lystartro took on his usual personality. "Get your face out of the mud you idiot!" he pointed at the ceiling. "The damned enemy is up there! Take your toy soldiers and march up there! We're fighting for Essendrav and you bastards are not getting in our way!" He pointed to the crowd. "What do you see? These aren't traitors, you ignorant puppet. These are humans. Humans with a home to fight for. Mhal knows something your thick-headed boss doesn't see and he's going to kill it for us!"

"No," he replied to Lystartro. "You are following a rambling heretic." He paused. "You idiotic...blank as a grox." He looked across the table to the others. "Tell me…"

"Don't you ignore me. Get your guns the hell upstairs and start killing the real enemy! You can't arrest us!" Lystartro protested. Any other man would have shivered from his tone alone, nevermind Lystartro's huge size and fists that could powder stone. Not this inquisitorial man.

"Can I not?" In a flash, the man drew his laspistol. Five shots threw Lystartro against the table. A few men cried out in rage but the guns of the inquisitorial troops kept them from retaliating.

"Traitor!"

"Undercover trash!"

"We should have smelt the stink of treachery on you!" These words only made him smile.

"Where is the heretic Mhal Dannit?" he asked coldly and calmly. He waited. "Men!" he was addressing his own, "kill…"

"Wait!" someone stood up. He turned his laspistol on this man, this thin, wiry bearded resistance fighter with a long coat. "I…we can talk about this." Lystartro cursed, spitting out blood.

"Emperor…curse…you…" Lystartro gasped to the man he used to call his friend. He could see the hate in Lystartro's eyes. The hate of a man betrayed. "I…hope…you…die…"

"You first." He shot Lystartro in the head, killing him instantly. The whole room erupted. Resistance fighters stood up, but were beat down and led out. Only the bearded one did nothing. He approached the resistance fighter and offered him a tobacco stick. The bearded man took it in his mouth but did not light it.

"Now," he asked the bearded man as the last of the traitors were led out. Lystartro lay where he fell, eyes still open. "What happened? Start from the beginning."

…

Earlier…

Cav lay awake in his humid bunkroom, waiting for wakeup call to be announced. In the darkness of his bunkroom, he could hear the other volunteers sleeping, snoring like they were trying to wake him up. Given the noise, he wondered if it was they who'd woken him with their nasal symphony. He wasn't tired and his sixth sense told him it was too early to fall asleep again. So he lay on his side and worried about the coming day. The day they shipped out. The day this pathetic unit of bedwetting scum, so the sergeant like to call them, would ship out to Essendrav proper.

His young heart was light with fear. His brother had made soldiering look so easy. His father too, and his uncles and grandfather. It was all because of them. If Cav didn't become a soldier, he would be the first man in his family to live life as a civilian in nine generations. The first man in this proud tradition, Cav's ancestor, fought next to Saint Erson himself. Cav wouldn't be the one to break this tradition. Of course, following it was even harder. In the dark, where it was easy to think, he wondered for the thousandth time if he would see his father or brother in Essendrav. Emperor willing he would, providing they weren't killed…

BLANG! The alarm went off and the lights went on.

"UP! UP!" the roaring sergeant stomped through the bunkroom, boxing boys in the ear to wake them. "Get your sorry hides the hell up!" Cav was out of his bunk before the sergeant could get to him. He made his bed in record time and stood at attention while everyone else around him struggled awake.

In his sleeveless bedtime shirt, Cav's clan tattoo could be seen on his shoulder. It was a tough looking symbol, of a shining angel rising over a mountain, a spear in hand. A tough symbol for an eighteen-year old boy like him. He'd never seen combat and the only gun he'd ever fired was a training…

OOF! The sergeant had whacked his ear.

"Stop slouching, strawhead!" the burly sergeant barked. Well, It wasn't fair to single himself out. They were all boys. Everyone here was his age. Officially, they were the 89th Erson City PDF Volunteers. To the PDF regulars and the offworlders who'd come to their aid, they and every volunteers unit like them, they were the 0th Shotstoppers.

Cav didn't know it, but in less than a month, over half the boys with him in that bunkroom would be dead.


	2. Rocket Berserkers

The trip to Essendrav proper had been long. After a quick, tasteless meal in the mess hall, they were herded into the transport crawlers to take the four hundred boys to an outpost an hour or two from Essendrav. That meant five hours to brood on an uncomfortable gunmetal seat with nothing but abandoned villages and trees to look at out the barred window.

"Why are them windows barred?" asked Stolce.

"To keep fatheads like you from busting out," replied Curth. "It's the same reason why the windows on the sleepy-hall got mesh on them. To keep you from escaping." Cav and Malreth shared a chuckle. There were four to a seat built for three. They looked like boys on their way to the academy. They were actually the four highest ranking "officers" of the volunteers unit. That meant they ensured that their ten squad leaders maintained the discipline of their nine squad members.

"Like a jail," Stolce said, his eyes afraid. He twitched when a fly landed on him. Cav pretended to be calm. He wasn't. His chest felt like lead. When he was in training, he had talked big and acted tough because he was young. When it came time to live up to his words, it was hard to match what he said.

"Hey, it is, isn't it?" Malreth shook a fly from his short, curly hair. "It is, right? I mean, they don't ask us where we wanna go."

"Well, I wanna go to Venger. To the beaches," Curth chuckled. The other boys shrugged. "Maybe I can take your mama. We can have fun." Curth talked to much. "Hey, just joking man."

"Humph," Stolce had been bullied a lot in the academy for his slurred accent and the fact that his mother was sent to a penal colony for assaulting an arbites while drunk. Curth had been one of the bullies.

"You think we'll go to the front at once?" asked Cav. "I mean…when we arrive at the outpost?"

"Cavenners, by the way the sergeant's been treating us, he'll prolly put us on latrine detail," Malreth suggested.

"We'd smell as bad as the enemy," Curth added, "almost as bad as…Stolce. Hey, hey, joking man." Erson City was plastered in propaganda posters that made fun of the enemy. One favourite for the cartoonists was the enemy's smell.

"Because I did hear we were being posted with a guard unit, a real guard unit," Cav continued. "You know? Immigrant offworlders who don't even know where Essendrav is."

"The rumor mill's got a lot of garbage to tell us," Malreth sighed, waving a fly out of his hair. "They could be sending us to the Astartes for all we know."

"Except that there's no Astartes on all Ersonia," Stolce mumbled darkly.

"But there's a lot of Ersonians and a lot of tanks," Cav mumbled. "But if I see an Astartes, I'll get his chapter to get your mama for you." Cav had been another one of the bullies who'd annoyed Stolce too. Of course, it was all to vent his frustration over being bullied over his clan. He'd relented when Stolce had tried to kill himself. But his nervousness now made him resort to old habits, to ease the mood. "Hey, sorry man," Cav muttered. "Whatever's out there, I'm sure it's nothing. We don't need Astartes."

A few hours later, it was time to go. The line of transports went through a concrete gate and halted in front of a huge compound. The sergeant raced in and yelled for the boys to get out in a tone that was too loud for the confined space. Cav got up jogged into the stream of PDF boys.

…

The commissar passed through the dusty mess hall, waving pipe smoke from his face. He crossed by uniformed guardsmen at their metal tables, playing cards or drinking. Some of these men were in the dark green fatigues of the Morchaghan 112th. If the commissar found one drop of alcohol in anyone's cup, someone would be shot.

"Where is the captain?" he asked one of the guardsmen in a 112th uniform. The large dark man pointed to a table where six men from different regiments were having a card game. The commissar approached.

"Captain Lystartro of the Morchaghan 112th?" the commissar boomed to the man he presumed was the captain.

"Yup, that's my name," Lystartro replied, sitting back. The commissar's eyes widened. He was huge, even for a soldier. His gut bulged, but the commissar knew better than to call it fat. His arms were like trees. His legs could kick down a tree. The left side of his face was deformed by a broad scar that must have come from fire or acid. His left forearm was an augmetic and his head was bald. The captain must have been in his mid forties. "I assume you're our new commissar." Lystartro patted an empty seat. The commissar did not sit.

"I am commissar Kins and the arm and voice of His holiness."

"Uh huh."

"Sir, please come outside with me," Kins pleaded.

"Why?" Lystartro asked innocently. "We can talk in here. Not too loud."

"Drinking…"

"It's all local juice, innocent goodness," Lystartro replied, "can't get drunk off it." Kins did not flinch. "Why the hell so hard? Once in a while you've got to sit and relax. If you stay tense all the time, let me tell you, it'll kill you. Back in Chazz, it's how we kept ourselves sane. Cause, believe me, we got few chances in that hell." Kins shrugged.

"Sir…just to warn you that I've been told you have to give a briefing today." Kins felt triumphant when he saw Lystartro's confusion.

"To the damned…Briefing? To who?"

"To the PDF volunteers coming in to join the 112th. Consider this news my first contribution to the company." The table laughed.

"Ah, the shot-stoppers," Lystartro acknowledged. "I wasn't told I had to brief them. I thought Frens or Arcantillius..." he cringed. "Nevermind." He folded up his cards.

"Hey, I'll catch you boys later. Maybe a few hands before we ship out?" Lystartro said to his table. The other officers…for that's what their uniforms said…waved him out and resumed play. Kins and Lystartro walked out of the mess hall, through the compound's rockrete corridors.

"So, tell me about yourself," Lystartro said.

"Captain?" Kins asked.

"Hear a few things, that's all. I'm the most senior officer in 5th company that you'll have to work with, so we'll need to be honest with each other," Lystartro replied. Kins shrugged.

"I fought in the Halivorian Uprisings down south. I'm from Ersonia, you know?" Lystartro nodded and asked what happened. "Well…there's these clans in the hills. They love Erson…Erson? He's the saint this whole rock is named after. Ersonia."

"Ah! Always wondered that," replied Lystartro.

"Well, there was this guy in these hill clans, these barbarians who live in the wilderness and safeguard their hilltop fortresses. He was Nerudru Halivor, who said the clans deserved to control Ersonia. He rebelled and got himself killed by the PDF. Five weeks of fighting. Not too hard. And, that's it, that's what I've done." Kins felt emasculated, knowing what he knew about the captain.

"So you're a junior?"

"I was a cadet back then, yes," Kins was thirty. "I've heard…well sir, I hear, and heard this unofficially, that you and your regiment fought alongside the Crimson Fists at the war for Rynn's World." Lystartro mumbled something. "Pardon?"

"Yeah," he said with a reluctant tone, like Kins had chosen to ask about the only thing Lystartro didn't want to discuss. "We were posted to do some behind-the-lines duties in Rynnsland training the locals. Heard bad news from Badlanding and we couldn't get out in time."

"How long did you stay?"

"Too long. I was in Porto Kalis when the whole Arx Tyrannus thing happened. I didn't see the flash, I was on the can." Kins looked at Lystartro's augmetic and pointed to it.

"Did you get that on Rynn's World?"

"Uh huh."

"Porto Kalis? New Rynn City?"

"The Battle of Grey Oaks, or so a few historians called it, as we were pushing the orks back during the reclamation. One of those big orks with shears on his hands. In this town, believe me, you want a man with my experience. The Morchaghan 112th is the best group of alien killers in the whole subsector." Kins grinned.

"You think you can handle these PDF babies?"

"I'll only take about a hundred. The colonel will divvy them up between the other companies. And don't be so quick to dismiss them. They may be young, but I saw good soldiers in boys half their age in my day," said Lystartro. "Of course," he muttered as an afterthought, "most of those boys didn't live past their first firefight. They got too excited when the shooting started."

…

This room was large enough to seat a whole regiment and a few scribes to boot. So it looked silly for half the seats to be empty and the full ones choking on the backsides of smooth-faced schoolboys in army fatigues. Well, that wasn't a fair evaluation. A lot of these boys did have enough stubble to make a beard. Still, despite the PDF kits and the gear, they didn't give Lystartro the chill he felt when he saw real soldiers. They all wore a black patch on the right shoulder that depicted the imperial eagle beneath the name "Erson City" in gold lacework. The number 89 was printed in blue on the eagle's chest. Blue meant "volunteers," or conscripts drafted to fatten Ersonia's fighting strength. Looking at them made Lystartro a little uncomfortable. He had a pair of sons back on Morchaghan who were their age by now. Were they going to follow him into the service? Lystartro grumbled. No use dwelling on the past.

"Men of the Erson City 89th!" Lystartro began, his voice echoing through the vaulted room. Gods above…this place was like a theatre. He could imagine a play being performed where he stood. "Welcome to Essendrav! My name is Captain Mortren Lystartro of the 5th company. I have served in the Imperial Guard for the better part of two decades. I have taken part in five campaigns against orks on three different worlds. This'll be my fourth, and so far…" He grinned darkly. "Well, it's like the good old days. This is the nice-zone. Where, if you wanna see your mommy, you come here first. The enemy isn't here and we're going to keep it that way. The Imperium holds a band of territory, of which this compound is part, on the eastern border of Essendrav to hold the orks back from the eastern countries. If you travel five hundred meters west of this very point, you will run into a huge network of trenches which defend our hold on the city." He waved his hand to his left, where west was. "And if you continue past there for about a ways then you're in Essendrav. Now they sent you to me without telling you much, so I know, so I'll lay it out to you like you don't know any freaking thing."

The screen behind him lit up.

"Here's us, on the edge of Essendrav. Now I'm about to tell you something you don't hear on the broadcasts. When the orks of the warboss Skullkicker arrived on Ersonia three years ago, their fleet numbered many hundreds or thousands of ships. The number of orks they got on your planet was estimated to be between two and three hundred million. They were able to land at least that many since then." He paused. "That's a lot of greenskins." He could see the fear on their faces. "So I'm laying it down for you nice and simple. Skullkicker has between eight and nine million ork warriors hitting Essendrav and each one of them…each one, can and will kill you the first bleeding chance he gets. He will cut off your head and he will stick it on a pole." Did one of the conscripts just shiver? "That's not something the propaganda guys made up, they actually do that. I've seen it. And if you're lucky, you'll see it too. If you're unlucky…well…we'll all know who you are soon enough." The picture changed. He saw a few of the boys widen their eyes.

"This is your typical ork warrior," Lystartro said, pointing. "He is almost never shorter than a meter and a half and he weights far more than I do. He will fight you with a blade and usually also a gun. Not all orks have guns but all orks have blades. If he uses his gun he will not fire accurately, but if he hits, you will go down. I have seen orks fire straight up into the air during a battle. I have had an ork miss me at three meters. I have seen an ork not stop in the middle of battle to reload. They are not worth one of you, but do not underestimate them."

The picture changed.

"There are many of these orks in this city, more than I've ever seen anywhere else. He is different from the others in that he had a rocket pack on his back to get close to you faster. Now, local command knows them as "rocket-berserkers" but the ork word for them roughly translates to…" Lystartro had to pause and remember this, "…man-who-reminds-me-of-a-thunderstorm. If you see one, do me a favour and kill him. The ork does not care if he dies. He cannot feel fear. He has no family to keep him alive, only his mob. He has no compassion. Peace with him is absolutely hopeless. So when you see an ork, kill him, especially if it's this one. Because they can move very, very fast." Gods, how many men did he lose to these rocket-berserkers in the past few months?

"Now," the picture changed, "Essendrav…as you can see… is divided into five band-shaped sections called Urbanis Zones. Urbanis 1 is furthest west and Urbanis 5 is furthest east. Urbanis 1 and 2 are in ork hands and the rest are being fought over. We're going off to Urbanis 5, for some…low intensity engagements. If we fight the orks there, they will be rocket-berserkers." He looked down at the sheet in his hand. "Now, I understand the 89th is divided into groups of 100. Each of your four groups will be assigned to one of my companies, to be…" he looked for the right word, "…mentored. Colonel Vistigo could not be here to assign you, so I'll read out your postings now." In the back, he could see three of his fellow Morchaghan captains waiting. "First group under Curth Tajennis, with first company under Captain Arcantillius. That's the big hairy guy there. Second group, under Stolce Dwarlo, with third company under Captain Sage. Third group under Malreth Bhoge, with fourth company under Captain Heeta. And fourth group under Cavenner…" Lystartro frowned slightly. Cavenner had no last name. "Under Cavenner…uh…with me. With 5th company."

…

_Diary._

_I have been assigned to be mentored by 5__th__ company of the Morchaghan 112__th__. They are big guys and old for soldiers. A few are as old as father! They're very experienced. Some are missing fingers. We arrived in Urbanis 5 yesterday and this is the first time I have been able to write. I am trying to keep my group disciplined. Tigerson is still doing great with his group and Josahik is still doing poorly. Mieel is still very homesick. I had to shut him up last night. By the Emperor and by Erson's bones, he shouldn't be here. _

_The city seems fine to me. They say it's contested, but Urbanis 5 still has people living in it and stuff. It's a nice place. Lots of big buildings and streets and roads with people. Different from home. There's lots of soldiers too. Mostly Ersonians but some cityguard from Chazz and another Morchaghan regiment. _

_I think I am doing well as fourth group's leader so far. The job isn't as hard as I thought. Just keep people from stealing or running away. I leave the decisions to the men in the 112__th__. I'm just there to learn, so I keep hearing. _

_I haven't seen any orks yet. I hope they're driven out before we have to fight._

Cav looked up. He was sitting at a kitchen table in a house they'd been given to sleep in by the 112th. Seven boys to a room and three to each hall was uncomfortable to say the least. This was the only empty room and even it was stacked with papers. He'd just written his daily report and was taking some time to pen an entry in his journal.

"What's that?" It was commissar Kins and one of the men from the 112th that Cav didn't know by name. He looked about forty and had a bushy beard with messy brown hair. He leaned against the wall, while Kins stood like a statue with his arms folded. "Unauthorized document?"

"Diary…sir," Cav made the sign of the aquilla. "I'm from one of the hill clans, see."

"It's an unauthorized document, then," Kins replied, voice like stone. "A form of written record unregistered and unapproved." Kins took it and read through it. "And I see you've spelt my name wrong too. K-I-N-S, no Z you strawhead idiot."

"Sorry, commissar…"

"Familiarize yourself with protocol. You're in the army now, not sitting playing the lute on your hilltop longhouse. How do we know you're not a spy? Hm?"

"I don' think the orks…"

"It doesn't matter what you think, strawhead, and don't talk back to a commissar," Kins shook his head sadly, tossing his diary onto the desk. "Keep yourself a limit to how much you use that thing. And get some sleep. If the orks attack tomorrow, you can't be caught napping." He threw the aquilla sign. "Dismissed Tokrox. Have that report for me tomorrow morning." Kins marched outside and out of mind.

"Temper like iron, that one," remarked the hairy man who Cav thought of as Tokrox.

"Yeah. I'm Cav," Cav said.

"What's strawhead mean?"

"Hm?"

"Kins called you a strawhead."

"I'm part of the hill clans. It comes from the fact that a lot of us are farmers and…you know…light brown or blonde hair," Cav's hair was dirty yellowish. He saw the ignorance in Tokrox's eyes. "Right, offworlder. Well, when Saint Erson and his pilgrims first settled this world, they needed to defend their communities from pirates and orks. So they formed these warrior clans with strong ties to certain hills that Saint Erson charged them with defending. The hills? Cause that's where the first Ersonian communities were, in rugged places where pirates couldn't get to. When the Imperium arrived a few centuries later to get Ersonia on its feet, those clans were no longer needed to defend. Some of us stayed to the old ways and we still live in the hills, watching Ersonia." Tokrox nodded.

"What's the diary about?" he asked. Cav shrugged.

"Silly tradition. Hill clan warriors, they used to be called hearthguard, kept diaries, so they could be stored in a library with their ancestors. My family's its own library, somewhere." Cav had never actually been there.

"You think you've got to defend Essendrav?" asked Tokrox.

"Hm? Sure," Cav shrugged. "First Essendrav then Erson City then…the hills." Why was he asking this? "I've got a lot of family fighting in Essendrav. Maybe I'll see them?"

"You won't," replied Tokrox unapologetically. "Essendrav's huge. Biggest damned city on Ersonia. You a country boy?"

"I grew up on a farm, so I guess." By rights, Cav should still be on that farm, helping his mother with the grox pasture. "I don't want to see my world crushed by these ork things. It's not hill clan tradition that brought me here. It's…you know…common sense." Tokrox smiled.

"You ever seen an ork?" Cav said no. "How about a grot?" Cav shrugged, not sure what he meant. "A space marine? Ever seen one of those?"

"Not in person," Cav admitted. "There's a statue of one in Erson City."

"Uh huh," Tokrox rolled his eyes. "So what the hell makes you think you can fight? War's gonna kill you, boy. You aren't ready. I fought on Rynn's World for over a year. I know it's gonna get you." Cav nodded uncertainly, standing up, wondering if Tokrox was totally…what's the word…sane? "Cause let me tell you something. The captain's cute speech the other day was one thing. But you ain't know the greenskins until you've had one right next to you, where you can smell the last poor guardsman he ate in his breath. Until then, they're just a stupid looking face on a propaganda poster, no matter how the hell many you see." Cav nodded unsteadily. He'd heard of orks eating people and making trophies of their victims. All the veterans reported it. But to him, was so unreal, some abstract concept that was as inhuman as it was untrue. His heart told him he'd never see it, his head wanted to tell him he'd never see it, but every single Imperial Guardsman he'd so far met told him he would. He absolutely would.

That night, he had nightmares about monsters.

…

Stolce Dwarlo and his unit had been given sentry duty. That meant they were scattered across this part of the city all over the place. Some people went here, some over there, but never more than four in one place. They watched roads and walltops throughout the sprawling urban maze of rockrete and steel and lights and rolling PDF and Imperial Guard vehicles. Now and then they spotted civilians. Stolce had caught Nash winking at a girl.

"We're on duty Nash," Stolce had snapped. Bad enough that he was a group leader, but Nash couldn't be distracted. Now, they were looking for signs of ork fliers or stealthers or those rocket-berserkers that they'd been warned about. Stolce looked around and spotted three boys from his group. By the Emperor…this was boring. After three days here, he had been given nothing but guard duty. Not that he wasn't grateful to be away from the killing, but anyone would complain from the boredom.

RAAAAAAAAAAARRRR RAAAAAAAAAAARRR

The siren came on so suddenly, Stolce almost jumped out of his skin. He reached for his lasgun and pointed it…no, don't point it at anything until you know what's going on, or he might get jumpy and shoot. Already he could see the civilians had fled indoors and the Imperial Guardsmen were on alert.

Squinting through the canopy of rooftops overhead, he saw them. Silhouettes, in messy murders that stained the sky. They were specks, but deformed specks of aircraft that no Imperial would fly. In the distance, he heard a bomb go off.

"Ah!" Tordan sprinted indoors. Stolce jumped when he heard another bomb, then another. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Where was it coming from? He heard gunshots off to the side somewhere. Wha..what? What was going on? What was he supposed to do? What good were they if they had no orders? What good were their eyes out here anyway? Who could miss all those dark shapes and those bombs?

Uncertain, Stolce shouted at his squad to be brave and watch for orks. He plugged his ears to the siren, but remembered his gun and held it in both hands, keeping vigilant. That's what he was supposed to do, right? In his mind, Stolce was whacking himself for doing something wrong. What it was, Stolce couldn't pin down, but he knew he should be doing more than stopping and staring like a baby at nothing waiting for nothing to happen.

Gunshots, from another street. Bombs continued to fall. He could see smoke rising above the roofs. Yup, definitely smoke. The streets were also clear. Good. So what should he do?

He looked up again and saw black flecks of smoke filling the sky. Flak guns. Smoky wisps of gas shot into the sky. Rockets. He saw a number of the shapes falling. Dead orks. Good. He could also see falling shapes, fat shapes. Bombs. Bad. So…what was he supposed to do?

Falling small shapes, like sand tossed to the wind…what were those? Up there, Stolce squinted to see some of the planes were dropping scores of smaller shapes that fell fast. There were hundreds up there. Bombs? He hoped not.

"Ah…guys?" The other three of his team on the street looked at him. "Are those rocket-berserkers?" They got closer and closer. Stolce's heart raced when a number of them got close enough to see. They were ork-shaped, with big things on their backs…

And they were heading straight for him!

With an alien bellow, a handful of orks swooped down onto the street. While orks were falling like rain all across the city, these ones were right here! Stolce raised his lasrifle and squeezed the trigger. It was stuck. Uh oh!

He dove into a building as five orks landed in the street outside. His heart and thoughts were racing. Since the war began, he'd had fantasies of killing orks. He'd always won and killed scores. In real life, he couldn't even manage five. Why was the street devoid of everyone but four PDF conscripts? Where was the Imperial Guard?

He looked outside in time to see the other three boys get carved apart into quivering chunks of bloody meat by the murderous orks. One of them stomped on Vash's head, crushing it like a melon.

"AH!" Stolce cried in horror and fear as he tried his trigg…wait, it was on safety. He turned safety off. He fired again. One of the orks raised a fat pistol and lazed away. Shots destroyed the wall he was in front of. One broke a window he was near. Stolce focused on this one, on its toothy face beneath its helmet, and fired. He spent his whole pack on one furious volley. He was thrilled when he saw the beast knocked onto its back. The others laughed at it. Yes, they were laughing. It was disgusting. Humans laughed. Aliens didn't. Stolce sighted the next ork and fired. He was dry.

Reload! Reload! Reload! Reload! He fumbled with his gun as the orks focused on him. To make things worse, the other ork was standing back up. Stolce cowered behind the wall and heard gunshots bounce off his cover.

Then the air was filled with the chugging of a heavy machine gun. Stolce peeked out to see the orks were dropping and breaking apart under something to their left. The last one died, its body shuddering and dropping, just as a tank rolled into view. No, an APC. A…what-chyama-call-it…track. Stolce smiled nervously at the guardsmen behind it and looked away from his dead friends. Then he flopped onto his bottom and began to sob.

…

The ork's head came apart under the shotgun's lead round. Lystartro reloaded and sighted the other one atop the wrecked cargo truck. He shot it just as it activated its rocket pack. It spiraled like a missile into the side of the shop across the street, bursting into flame.

"Aha! Good shot," Frens commented, popping off another shot with his lasgun. A rocket-berserker who had yet to land died in midair. The street was being hammered. Ork dead littered the road, along with a few burning vehicles. The guardsmen had taken to the buildings flanking the street, firing up. Now that the bombs had stopped, it was safe to do so.

"Another wave," Frens shouted. Lystartro didn't need to be told. He could see the cloud of orks falling down, their rocket packs ready to dampen their fall. Precise lasgun rounds killed many in the air. Flak send dozens more spiraling down in smoke. Lystartro flinched in horror as he looked above them.

"Crashing plane!" he shouted, sighting the angry red face painted on the front of the ork monstrosity. It burned furiously from where an anti-air round had hit. It smashed into the topmost floors of a ten story office, sending the men in its lower floors scurrying. Most of them were killed by falling rubble. One died as he was shot by a descending ork.

"Hit them!" Lystartro yelled before the plane's wreckage had stopped falling. It was hard to see through the smoke, but his eyes had seen through worse conditions. He grinned like a fiend when a rocket-berserker landed atop the wrecked plane's wing. The brute sported a huge machine gun that was fed by an ammo chain that ran to his side. His rocket was as large as two men. Sighting this beast, Lystartro fired. The great ork's smile disappeared, along with its face. He fell like a sack of dirt off the wing and into the burning fuselage for a well-deserved cremation.

To his left, one of the Ersonians was gutted by a storm of flying lead, spat from the machine gun of an ork who'd landed nearby. Another ork did not bother to land, instead flying headfirst into a heavy bolter nest. Moments later, the bomb the ork had exploded, killing everyone nearby. Lystartro yelled as another ork landed in front of his window. The beast raised an guard-issue grenade, the pin pulled. Lystartro put his shotgun against the creature's face and fired. He ducked down behind the wall of the building and heard the grenade go off.

"Where the hell are those PDF shotstoppers?" Candren shouted in dismay, his lasgun emptying his last power pack.

"They're not here," Frens pointed out. "Sir?" Lystartro rolled his eyes. Another ork landed in the street, a two-handed axe in its hands. He made eye contact with it. The ork grinned from beneath the commissar cap it wore in mockery of everything the hat stood for. Though the ork was formal by ork standards, that look only meant one thing.

"Kill that one! It's going to charge!" Lystartro shrieked, pointing with one hand and firing with the other. The ork jumped into the air, but took lasrounds from six different Morchaghan guardsmen. The ork died as its rocket pack fired, driving it corkscrewing into a wall. The hat bounced down from the explosion it made. It was the also the last ork to die in that last murderous wave. The Imperial Guard waited, but no new orks rained down.

A half hour later, the all-clear was sounded. Now began the process of cleaning the place up.

…

"Deserting?" asked Kins to Cav.

"No!" Cav and his hundred had taken cover in a bomb shelter. "We heard bombs fall so we went to a bomb shelter, as ordered." The others nodded, a few squinting in the shaft of light Kins' lamp made.

"By the Throne…did you not see the orks?" Kins crossed his arms as Lystartro came down the stairs. "Strawhead, this cannot ever happen again. The only reason your hill clan brains are not all over that boy's face is because we need bodies to help clear the streets. On the double!"

"Yes sir," Cav nodded to his unit, who hurried out after Kins. All except four.

"Notren is hit," Cav said to the burly captain. "If…"

"Shut up," the captain sounded mad. "I did tell you to go to the bomb shelter, but I'd have you shot if I hadn't." Cav nodded, not feeling the weight of his words. "Notren's not going to survive. Now come on," the captain stood up. "What? His head's caved in. Why are these three helping him? What can they do? He's dead." Cav bit his lip and turned away. He felt like he was back in that nightmare with monsters. And he hadn't even seen an ork yet.

"Notren?" Mieel whimpered. He flopped back from his dying twin and stared off into space. Salvantor and Nails tried to comfort him. "I want to go home," Cav heard Mieel whimper. Cav swallowed a lump in his throat and took a few steps towards the stairs. He pressed his forehead against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.

"By the Throne…calm yourself down. We all die someday, little strawhead," Lystartro said. His voice had an edge but he wasn't mad. "You want real war? You should have been there on the first night of Rynn's World. Throne…now that was one hell of a night."

"Would you shut up?" Cav blared. "One of my friends is dying and there's nothing I can do about it and I know it's only going to get worse! Do you think…at all think, that I give two thoughts about some damned war that happened somewhere I've never even heard of?" Cav was angry, too angry to care about his tone. Lystartro looked at him strangely, then began to smile.

"You know, any other man I'd have put on latrine duty for that," he said. "But since you're one of those tough strawhead types, I think I'll have you flogged." Cav barely heard him. He was looking at Mieel, who was crying into Salvantor's shoulder. He flinched when Lystartro slapped him on the shoulder. "First taste of death boy, get used to it. But I'll make soldiers out of you boys yet."

…

_Diary_

_I got off with six lashes for snapping at Lystartro. He thinks I'm unlucky, but Kins tells me he'd have shot me if he was there. I think Kins hates me because I'm hill clan. He's always saying how I smell like one of Halivor's followers or how I'm a strawhead with no brains. Sure, he's nice to everyone but me. _

_Notren died last night. Mieel's not taking it well. I suppose its natural. I remember when Mieel and Nortren would take turns riding their father's grox and joke about being aboard a titan. Then they'd argue where they were supposed to be fighting. I always thought Nortren would have taught his brother enough to have prepared him for his death. Even I knew Mieel couldn't rely on his brother his whole life. But Mieel was the kind of guy who could avoid attention. I guess that's how he got through training. But now who's going to read Mieel's orders to him? Who's going to wipe Mieel's butt? I know I shouldn't write this in case Kins finds it, but Mieel isn't exactly an intelligent guy. He can't read and he certainly can't take orders. PDF Volunteers needs to check its candidates closer. _

_I still haven't seen a live ork. Dead ones, plenty b_

Cav rolled his eyes and put down his pencil. Mieel was throwing up a storm in the other room. He crept through the night-black halls and found Mieel, shrieking and banging his fists on the walls.

"Hush," Cav said, putting a hand over Mieel's mouth. "Someone? Hurry, before Kins hears this." Mieel's muffled cries were helped little by Cav's hand. Emperor above! No one was getting up to volunteer. They didn't want Kins catching them awake.

"Hello?" Tokrox poked his head inside. By now, Mieel was rolled up in Cav's lap like a child, wetting his lap with tears. "Oh. I'll take him. Shut him."

"Some people were just not meant to be soldiers," Cav sighed. He got up and went.

"Cav! Cav!" Mieel cried after him. "I wanna go home! Cav! Take me with you! Where are you going?" Cav closed the door. He turned in time to see Kins running up the stairs.

"It's nothing…" Cav promised.

"I'll tell you what's nothing. Getting waked up by that little worm's squealing isn't. Now you shut him up or I shoot you both," Kins frowned. "Just like a little Halivor-man, sneaking around in the dark." Kins entered Mieel's room and closed the door. Cav hurried back to his own room. He heard distant shouting. Then it was quiet.

_I hear that we're going to go deeper into Essendrav by next week, to relieve other Imperial Guard units who've been there for a year. Not looking forward to it. And Emperor, when Mieel dies, don't let him suffer. Don't make him die like his brother did. Don't let it take hours. _

Just writing that made him angry. He could see Nortren's crushed face in his mind. It was less repulsive now than the sight had first been. All because of the orks. Anger replaced sadness.

_And, Emperor, I beg you, let me kill a lot of orks. _


	3. Life in the Guard

There was another air raid the next day. It was like the first, but no rocket-berserkers rained down, so Kins gave Cav and his troops permission to stay in a bomb shelter. When the attack was over, the captain ordered them to help with the clean-up. A cathedral had been flattened with swarms of civilians inside. The whole of the Erson City 89th Volunteers got the honour of cleaning up the debris. By the end of the day, Nortren's crushed face was one of many memories Cav had of mutilated corpses. That night, while he sat outside over their dinner of rations, Cav found himself with Josahik and Tigerson, two boys he'd met in training. Personally, he liked both equally. As soldiers, Tigerson was a better shot, harder and braver. His attitude had kept him from getting Cav's job. Where Josahik had been studying to be a mason, Tigerson had been conscripted in exchange for a pardon on robbery charges.

"I hope we ship away from here soon," Tigerson was saying. "Fight the orks in Urbanis 4 rather than sitting around and getting bombed, that's what I want."

"And carrying corpses," Josahik added, "enough of that garbage."

"I'd rather kill than die. It's not the dead guys, it's the bombs. You know? The explody things? The bodies…nah, we just pack them up into the ration soup." Tigerson grinned, sipping his soup. Cav smiled uneasily. They didn't actually do that, but…

"You know, I thought I saw one that looked like Stolce's mom," Cav muttered. Those dead faces in his mind. The only way he knew how to deal with them was to laugh at them. He might as well, he'd have no shortage of death in the coming days. Tigerson chuckled.

"It didn't make out with you, did it?" he asked. Josahik tugged Cav's sleeve and pointed. Lystartro and one of his lieutenants, a one-eyed man named Frens, were both walking towards them. Cav and the other two stood up and made the sign of the aquilla. Lystartro and Frens returned it.

"We're moving out to the edge of Urbanis 5. Command says it's going to get hit soon," the captain grimly said. Cav looked around the dark street. He could see other 89th were sitting nearby, oblivious, eating and joking over what they'd seen. He saw Mieel sitting by himself beside the ration truck. "Tell your group. I'll leave you to report to Lieutenant Frens here if you need your butt wiped. I've got to see to my own men when the greenskins come."

"An attack, sir?" Cav asked. The captain nodded.

"A lot of rocket-berserkers and some vehicles were dropped into Urbanis 4. They rampaged their way through the section and are bound for the wall. We leave right now." Lystartro left without a word.

"Alright," Cav cleared his throat. "89th! We're moving out right now! The orks are gonna hit the wall on Urbanis 5 and we've got to get on the move!" He turned to Tigerson. "Find your group."

"Yes sir," Tigerson left. Yes sir? Cav had never been called sir by anyone.

…

The wall on Urbanis 5 referred to the huge rockrete barrier that divided each Urbanis section from the others. They were not a single, eternal strip of flat rockrete, but a zig-zagging fortification of varying heights, all studded with towers and fortresses. The section of wall they were to defend was a squat, flat strip that overlooked the bombed-out streets of Urbanis 4 just beyond. There were no fortresses or towers to support them here. A half kilometer of rockrete shaped roughly like a W, wedged between two spites of natural rock, and it was to be held by the 89th, the 112th, and a number of Ersonian PDF regulars who Cav never got a chance to meet.

They arrived a full five hours before the attack and spent the whole time sleeping. It was early morning now and they'd marched through the night.

"Get up!" Frens shouted, "get up!" Cav was up and took his position amongst the other volunteers who poked their heads over the leftmost point in their W shaped wall. If he looked to the right, he could see the whole battle. The walltop was manned by a few hundred of the grey-dressed Ersonians. The dark green of the Morchaghan guardsmen showed up now and then in pockets. There were a few heavy weapons, which Cav couldn't identify at this distance. Behind him, he heard Frens oversee the placement of a mortar.

"Alright," Cav said to his ninety-eight. "Don't fire until the order goes. Or you waste shots." They were spread thinly. Why weren't there more?

In the distance, Cav heard shells falling. Somewhere out there, another battle raged. He spat off the wall and watched the saliva plummet the long drop down. It must be fifty meters to the ground…

BOOM! An explosion blossomed out from the wall. Cav kept his head up, searching those grey ruins for the enemy. It was so bleak, so lifeless. There were no civilians living in Urbanis 4. BOOM! Another explosion rocked the walls. He heard a few mortars on the wall answer. He heard Tigerson ask where the orks were. Cav spat again and imagined his fear leaving his body with the spit…

They came out of the ruins like ants. Fat dark shapes far below, crawling out from holes or from behind collapses or charging in waves over heaps of debris. They were too far away to make out in detail.

"Those are orks?" Cav asked Frens as he took his place next to Cav.

"Yup, there they are," Frens replied like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Get ready. They'll close fast." Cav could hear the heavy weapons were firing now, and dots of dust were leaping up amongst the attackers. They were surging forward now. Cav saw a few small groups disapear in blasts of dust. He aimed at them. They were closer. Now he could see their shapes amidst the ruins. Some were distinctly taking cover and returning fire at the wall. They were all carrying rocket packs on their backs. Cav heard shots skip off the wall.

"Fire?" Cav asked.

"Wait," Frens replied. The orks were close now. Throne…those were orks. Real orks. When could they shoot? A whistle sounded. When every lasgun on the wall fired, Cav joined in.

It was a rainstorm of obnoxious pops. The air grew alight with lasbolts. They streaked down into the horde, punching orks off their feet. Cav joined in.

It was hard to tell what was happening. Cav didn't think he would be able to tell if he got any kills in a fight like this and quickly saw he'd been right. He just fired as accurately as he could at those shapes down there and reload whenever his gun stopped.

"Ack!" Someone from the 89th was hit. He hit the ground beside Cav. Jissiel Chaxris, someone Cav didn't know too well. But Cav didn't think anymore of it. In battle, there was no time to lament.

Ork dead covered the ruins below. The orks were either sprinting forward or taking cover amongst the ruins and firing back. Cav could hear Frens yelling orders over the din.

Ork after ork fell. Cav kept his eyes on one group, firing at them, trying to kill one. The group of at least ten disappeared in a cloud when a mortar found them. Orks stumbled forward. Orks died. They lost bodies for every meter they crossed. But they did not stop coming. Orks were now dying wherever Cav looked, but there were so many.

Then, churning through the ruins, came a curious vehicle. Some mad cross between a flatbed truck and a crab made out of scrap. It sported a fierce cannon that blasted at the wall, causing the wall to shake. If it had aimed, it might have killed scores of humans. Cav saw another come crawling, then another. He tried to ignore them. Emperor above…he could die at any moment.

One of the rocket berserkers was suddenly no longer down there, but up here, with them! It had fired up its pack and was coming up. Cav saw a green face and goggles in front of a burning rocket pack before the ork was gone, killed by a lasgun. The ork spiraled down and exploded into the wall.

More came. Cav clenched his teeth and fired at these ones. They were cut down, flying and exploding every which way. A few exploded on the ramparts, killing men. They kept coming, dying violently on their way up. Ork after ork, face after wild face, filled Cav's eyes. He shot at them with his fellows. He saw one, with a two handed axe, spiral out of control and smash into the ramparts, knocking a heavy weapon and its crew off the wall. He saw one in a steel bowl helmet land unscathed on the wall and fire both its pistols. Cav shot, but not at that ork.

A trio of orks had rocketed up from the ruins and was streaking towards his unit. Cav shot at the largest one, a huge brute clad head to toe in sheet metal, but he wasn't stopping it. One of the orks spiraled out of control and crashed to the ground. So did the one Cav was focused on, though not by his hand. He would have shot the third, but it landed on the wall a few meters from him. He ignored it, another fifteen were coming.

He saw them shooting their crude guns as they swept up towards them. He saw one clearly as it came at him, its machine gun firing.

The brute had bright green skin and no helmet. It had goggles that looked made for a human. The ork wore the dirty remains of a pilot's jacket that was reinforced around the joints by metal chunks. It had tattoos on its face. Red renditions of lightning playing up and down its green cheeks. The rocket on its back was plump. The tip wore a long metal spike, like the ork was expecting to impale someone as it soared on its insane course into battle. Cav shot. He saw the ork grab its jaw as Cav's lasbolt hit it, then it shot straight up into the air. The ork did a loop, that finished with it crashing straight down, where it exploded into the ground.

'I killed one,' he thought. He could remember his uncle, who'd fought for Halivor during the uprisings, tell him how dreadful it was to kill someone. 'Haha! I killed one!' Whatever his uncle had felt when killing humans, Cav felt joyful. You always feel guilty afterwards, so his uncle said. Cav felt pride. He felt excited. He wanted to kill more. Destroying these ugly aliens was a wonderful privilege.

"Die!" Cav shouted as more orks swooped onto the wall. To his right, he heard one of his volunteers scream. He slipped on the blood of another. There were orks across the walltop. Cav could hear human voices screaming. He saw a mutilated Morchaghan guardsman hurled off the ramparts to his death.

"Die!" Cav cried again, shooting the nearest ork. The brute had its back to him and was presently chopping into the body of a volunteer. The ork turned to look at Cav. His vision was filled by a long, deformed alien head with pointed ears and an overbite. The beast's eyes were yellow and mean. Cav had no time to feel fear as the beast opened its mouth and roared its alien warcry.

A droplet of alien saliva hit his nose. Its breath smelt of the dirty latrines.

"Hit it!" Frens shouted, stabbing the ork's neck with his bayonet. The ork squealed and flailed its cleaver, beheading a nearby volunteer. "Shoot it!" Cav shot the ork in the hand to get rid of that awful cleaver. The ork did not drop it. Frens stabbed again, hitting the ork in one of its yellow eyes. A final stab to the neck made the monster grow limp. It stumbled like a drunken giant and flopped off the wall.

"Thanks…" Frens was already shooting down another ork as it swept onto the wall. He looked for orks who'd landed on the wall but saw none. He looked down at the ruins and saw the orkish vehicles were all ablaze. He'd forgotten about those. Down there, the orks were beat. The survivors were withdrawing, stumbling over their dead. Cav laughed in triumph as he added his fire to the pursuing lasbolts. They had won! And he killed one!

He didn't stop congratulating himself during his post battle duties of tallying his dead and writing a report to submit. He'd lost half of his group. Later, Frens would blame it on their lack of hand-to-hand experience. The morbid tally did not even register in his weary mind. He couldn't see it, past the sight of that rocket-berserker spiraling into the ground after he, Cav, had shot it. Let Kins say what he wanted. Cav had killed one!

All the while, the distant boom of artillery didn't abate. He'd won his battle here, but somewhere out there, someone was fighting an even harder battle.

…

The bombed out hotel made a poor office, but it was the best thing there was. Captain Lystartro sat behind a rotting desk and thought about the six he'd lost today. Good men, to the last. It felt like such a waste to lose so much experience to this silly ork attack. But it could be worse. He'd just received word that the whole Urbanis 5 wall had been attacked by tens of thousands of orks. Word was still coming in over the results. In fact, the fighting was still happening in some places but Lystartro had no reason to think the push wouldn't be repulsed. The wall had held good enough the past three times the orks had hit it.

"Sir?" Lystartro looked up to see a PDF volunteer enter. He threw a quick aquilla before walking up to Lystartro's desk. "I have the report from Cav. Fifty-one dead…"

"Yeah, I'll read it," Lystartro snatched the paper from the boy's hand. "Hm," he looked the youth over. "You're Tigerson, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Frens says you got three kills today." Tigerson shrugged. "You're a good shot, he says."

"I've practiced," Tigerson replied, "I'm a bit of a veteran of the streets. A…I had to learn to use a gun to keep myself fed, we'll put it that way."

"Like a ganger?" asked Lystartro.

"Sort of," Tigerson fingered a white scar on his hand. Lystartro recognized the scar those horrid machines made when they removed a tattoo. It had been a gang tattoo no doubt. Tigerson probably had more scars like it across his body.

"Gangers can't aim for the life of them. You got it from somewhere else," Lystartro replied. "I'm gonna guess training. He smiled at the boy's indignant look over his remark about gangers.

"Sir…I…" Tigerson chose his words carefully. Even a youth like him knew to pick his words around a man as big as Lystartro. "The others were wondering how you got your augmetic." Lystartro flexed his.

"This sucker? Well if you want to see it in action, I've got to disappoint you. I'm not like those heroes you see on the broadcasts who can punch through a freaking tank with their augmetics. This thing just helps me fire guns, hold spoons and, when I have to, relieve myself. It's just like this one," he waved his good hand. Tigerson nodded. "But that doesn't answer your question, does it? Lost it to a grenade." He didn't want to say more. "If you're looking for war stories, I'll tell you all about the time I fought with the space marines during the reclamation of Rynn's World." He paused as Tokrox came in and placed a sheet on his desk. "It was good to get away from there. Compared to that place, Essendrav is nothing. But longer…" Lystartro squinted at the page and looked up at Tokrox. "What is this?"

"Orders…"

"I know that," Lystartro held up the sheet and shook it. "What the hell does Vistigo think he's playing at? This isn't a circus. Get me a vox set. I want to give the colonel a good talking to. He can't be serious with these orders. These cannot possibly be ours." Tokrox squinted at the page.

"Should we argue with command?" he asked, "I'm prepared to follow them and I've never questioned Vistigo in my life. Captain, I know you and the colonel are practically brothers. He'd never make a mistake like this. That is his signature. If he thinks we can't do it, he'll argue our case." Lystartro nodded slowly. He and Tokrox had fought together throughout their careers. Back on Chazz, Tokrox had impressed everyone by knocking out an ork tank with a grenade thrown from an unlikely angle. There were many men in the 112th that Lystartro considered his friends but only a handful he considered his brothers. Tokrox was one of them.

"Tigerson," Lystartro said with some reluctance. "Go to Cav and tell him we've received new orders. We're heading out tomorrow morning." He read the orders aloud.

"Really?" Tigerson asked in bewilderment. "That sounds a little specialized for a group like the 89th"

"Yeah, well, you grew up on the hard side of life. You should be used to getting screwed," Lystartro replied.

…

Haze. Fingers, in front of his face, clutching fistfuls of dirt. He could feel the daze weighing down his limbs. He heard sounds further off than they should be, like the half-forgotten memory of last night's dream, no, nightmare. They were the sounds of a nightmare. They were the sounds of barbed wire being dragged through an open wound. They were the sounds of a steel bar beating against bone. They were the sounds of healthy flesh being slowly lacerated by freshly broken glass. They were the sounds of war.

He saw the lasgun in front of him at the bottom of the crater he'd fallen into. Curth ran his fingers across his short hair. His head was bare. The blast must have knocked off his cap. Something tugged at his arm. Curth grasped his lasgun and stood back up. Those sounds of war revealed their sources to him.

Before him, the manmade cliff of the Urbanis 5 wall rose with all its unyielding strength. It was lit from behind by flames, like a small star was nestled behind it. Smoke eclipsed the sky. It was black, but occasionally a detonating shell lit it up. When this happened, Curth could see the speck-tiny zipping shapes of rocket-berserkers sweeping through it to reach Urbanis 5. Bombed out buildings surrounded him. Their windows were empty, like the eyes of skulls. The whole street was dead. Everything was riddled with holes or the decay that war inflicted. Hot laser and solid rounds from both sides swept overhead. Bodies, mostly human, lay in awkward ruin across the street.

"I said get up!" Ghordon pleaded. Curth nodded and abandoned the crater, dodging into the alleyway with the rest of his squad. Behind him, a squad of Ersonians tried to follow him. A merciless hail of dusty blasts reduced them to bleeding shrapnel.

"Where's the captain?" Curth asked to the 112th Lieutenant he'd been assigned to follow. Of Curth's original group of twenty, fifteen remained. The 112th had two squads here, thus far unbloodied.

"No clue, you damn shotstopper," the lieutenant replied from behind his stubble. Throne…what was his name? Curth had been told it five times and forgotten it already. He was terrible with names. Until three weeks ago, he still had trouble telling Mieel and Notren apart. Those two had been together so often and looked so similar. "Alright, crew," the lieutenant barked. "I want fifteen lasguns on this side. Suppressing fire, and one half of that fifteen get across to that ruin there and we hold this street." He pointed to the side of the alley Curth hadn't come from. "Everyone else, worry about the other side." It was a long alley, big enough for a tank to hide in. Hey, it was probably big enough for three. They were wedged between two dead warehouses who's roofs had caved in a year prior.

"Get ready!" Curth heard the lieutenant shout. "Here they come!"

…

Here they came. Malreth stared at the wall ahead of him from the hole in the middle of the wrecked hab's corpse of debris. He fired his lasgun from between two fallen bricks, his bosy splayed in his crater. Eleven other 89th members hid with him, firing at the orks who streamed over the wall and rampaged up the street. A shot hit one of the bricks near Malreth's head. It threw up a spit of stone. A chunk of the brick bounced down the ruin, tumbling to the street two meters below. Malreth felt low to the ground. He was low to the ground. All the 112th Guardsmen had somehow found intact habs to shoot from. To Malreth's right rose a four story hab unit that was packed with 112th. It was too late to join them now.

Rocket berserkers swooped overhead, crashing into the habs around him. Some of them managed to land on their feet, though of their fates, Malreth didn't care. He had no time to.

Orks thundered up into Urbanis 5 from the wall, charging down on heavy feet to the roads below to join the ocean of footsloggers who stormed at the guardsmen and PDF in cover. Malreth didn't notice the ones that fell, only the ones that didn't.

"Who's got a spare?" someone shouted over the crack of his lasgun. Malreth was a generous person, who would have given up one of the eight power packs he had if he wasn't so busy. A rocket berserker slammed onto the ground right in front of their fallen hab. They all brought it down, each man shooting. It seemed to be untouched raising its hand to throw a grenade. Only when a lasbolt smashed its open mouth did the monster crumble.

"Keep going! We can do this!" Malreth shouted. "We'll make the damned captain pat our butts in delight!" Malreth ducked away from his position as an explosion shook the streets in front of him. He returned to his hole and kept firing.

The dusty- dry shade of rockrete covered the entire street, but the enemy's skin added colour. The enemy was either bold green or the colour of an evergreen. That colour once reminded him of the needle forests. Now it was the colour of the biggest orks with the most exotic and deadly weaponry the crude foe had. Now it was the colour of death.

Coming up the road from the wall raced a mob of orks with lime coloured skin, dirty with mud, and dressed in an assortment of rags. They lacked the armoured plate of the larger ones and Malreth noticed their weapon of choice was a piece of pipe, wielded like a club or a rusty knife. Only a few carried crude guns. Their bodies were not as rippled with muscle as their larger kin. Malreth could see a dead rocket berserker on sprawled across the cratered road. These orks, who stumbled over craters and bodies, were half the size of the darker alien.

Malreth loaded a fresh power cell, ignoring the berserker who swept overhead, leaving a streak of smog in his path. Let another man shoot him. Aiming at this mob of greenskins, he loosed the contents of his lasgun into the freaks. He saw lasbolts cut into the orks and kill them, spraying their dark blood across their comrades as they died, falling over each other. Whether these murderous shots were his, Malreth didn't know. There were so many people firing at them.

'They aren't big,' Malreth thought as he saw one stagger, raise its axe in anger, then fall as three shots cut into its chest. 'They're like, orkish youths.' Compared to the scarred fiends that propelled towards his lines, these lime-skins were like children. 'Young orks. Like me.' Malreth saw a few bolts leave his lasgun. The young ork in front of him, a wiry creature in brown pants with a bare chest, thudded to the dusty grey of the road, blood leaking from its muscles. That kill was Malreth's for sure.

'Five,' Malreth thought. Most of these young aliens were now dead, with the last survivors reaching the habs where the humans hid, leaving a carpet of green in their sad wake. One of them fired a rusty pistol madly at Malreth's hab.

"Kill that bastard!" Gill shouted.

The young ork waved its gun as it shot, like it was swatting a fly, shooting randomly. Malreth shoot its head. At five meters, it was an easy shot.

'Six,' Malreth thought.

"Everyone alright?" someone asked. Another explosion shook the streets. On the walls, plumes of flying orks and debris indicated other explosions. With his attention no longer on the smaller greenskins, Malreth could see the dead, dismembered orks outnumbered the live ones. Their momentum was gone and the orks were running. No more mobs crossed the street to beat themselves like fists into Imperial lines. The only orks who fought were firing from cover. He gave a quick smile when he saw a rocket berserker try to retreat. It swooped towards the wall, but was struck in the rocket and slammed embarrassingly into a buckling hab unit. Moments later, the hab's roof collapsed, throwing out a gravestone coloured cloud that hid much of the field. Retreating orks sought cover in the haze. On the wall, no more orks showed themselves and none of the crazed brutes shot down on their rocket packs. Malreth took one last shot into the fleeting aliens, clipping one in the shoulder as it abandoned its shell hole. The ork was wounded but pressed on, oblivious. Malreth liked to think the alien would wear the scar with pride.

The last ork was gone moments later, sweeping on his rocket pack up, over the wall and dropping down behind it in Urbanis 4.

Silence as bleak as the ruined look of the grey street coloured the scene. Not even the distant drum of cannon distorted the dusty air. No one was cheering.

"Six," he finally said, his heart racing. Now he had time to feel afraid. He turned from the hole. "Holy Emperor," he cursed in bewilderment at the violence he'd witnessed.

"Eh, you get used to it," replied the guardsman. Malreth blinked in surprise. There were four of them, in the grey and black of the Chazzan offworlders. One had the stripes of a sergeant. When had they come?

"Group leader Malreth Bhoge of the 89th PDF Volunteers," Malreth said. The others around him saluted the rugged Chazzans. One of them had a bullet hole in his helmet.

"Yeah, I don't care what your name is, shotstopper," replied the sergeant, "where that snot-spew captain of yours? My colonel's right mad at him."

"I…uh…" Malreth felt the world pressing down on him. What he would give to answer the dignified sergeant's question! He knew this! Malreth tried to remember which hab he'd sheltered in when they took up firing positions on this street.

"Forget it!" the sergeant blared like a siren. He and his men stalked down the ramp of debris to the ground below and walked up the street, stepping over fallen orks. One of them paused to cut an ear off an especially large ork with a pair of wire cutters. He pocketed his trophy and followed his comrades out of sight.

"That didn't go well," joked Mazer from behind the overturned table he'd hidden behind.

"Hey..." Malreth looked for a curse to threaten or shut Mazer's big mouth, but knew it wouldn't help. "Drop it," he ended up saying. He rose up. "Let's rendezvous with the rest of the group. You're all alive, right?" The others rose up to join him.

It was his first day of actual combat and he felt like a fool. He was the father figure of a hundred boys just like him. If he made an oversight like what he just did with a more important decision, what then? He was like those foolish looking lime-coloured orks with their pipes and their loincloths.

Only then did he notice not everyone stood up. Gill lay peacefully in the corner where he'd been fighting from. The top of his head was gone. The young ork with the pistol had gotten lucky. He must have been the only soul that rag-tag bunch had killed.

…

Colonel Vistigo was one of a number of colonels who looked across the battle map that was spread out like a rug across the table. The table itself was a beautiful piece of carpentry, carved and polished, with legs that resembled angelic warriors carrying spears. It was an eyesore in this room. The walls were white and studded with holes that revealed the wood beneath. The windows were shot out. Dust, debris and broken glass coated the floor. The light came from a dim lantern that hung from a nail in the wall.

"The attack has been repulsed," announced Brigadier-General Ersonnus to the room. "Good job men, good work. The marshal will be proud." There was no cheering. There was just a grim look at that thick grey line between Urbanis 4 and 5 and the silent question of how much it cost to defend that line. Ersonnus sensed the discontent in his officers and brushed a fly out of his heavy moustache.

Ersonnus looked nothing like his namesake, Saint Erson, who was a fair man with a long beard. Ersonnus' father was a nobleman in one of the eastern provinces. He was still alive, apparently half his body was replaced by machines. Ersonnus said he looked like a spider. Ersonnus himself was ninety-three, but he had the face of a fifty-year old. He had a las weapon built into his left hand and walked with a slight hunch, which came as a result of carrying a power generator inside his spine. He had an augmetic left eye, giving him the "fake eye of authority" look (as it was known on Morchaghan) that was so common to the higher echelons of the Imperial hierarchy. Vistigo did not have any augmetics and did not want any.

"Post-engagement reports are in. Please take note," Ersonnus continued as he nodded to his servitor. The room filled with the servitor's inhuman voice reciting their reports.

"Sector 1-A. Forty-six dead from artillery. Sector 3-A: Fifty-six dead from artillery. Primary ork attacks struck sectors 4 and 5. Ork assault against sector 4 repulsed. Across subsectors A to I, casualties are listed at 6110. Sector 5, subsectors A to J, losses are 8491. Enemy held in all subsectors. Enemy dead is unknown at the time."

Over 14000 dead? That was a lot, but in a city this size, it wasn't much. There were tens of thousands of men and dozens of regiments to plug the hole they left.

"Now," continued Ersonus, "my brother in Urbanis 4 cannot stomach the orks on his own. As I'm sure you all know…" he paused to look around, "we cannot remain on the defensive forever. The resistance groups in Urbanis 3 2 and 1 are holding, but they need our help. We must break the siege in Urbanis 4 and very soon."

"And I will not accept any excuses for misdirection in your command," reminded Ersonus' pet commissar…whatever his name was. "We must push into Urbanis 4."

"The enemy has just broken itself with this attack. Now's the time to counterattack," Ersonus said. "We have over one hundred thousand guardsmen ready to cross the wall and help our brothers in Urbanis 4 out. My brother has been begging for this for weeks. With today's attack done, we can surely press past the wall."

"Any word from the resistance groups in 3 2 and 1?" asked Colonel Yakasoto, from the southern isles of Ersonia.

"They continue their raids," Ersonus said with confidence. "We haven't heard much from them, but trust be my friends, they are there." He looked around the room. "Now, this is the surprise you've all been waiting for. This morning we received a report from our friends in recon. Warboss Skullkicker is in Essendrav, in Urbanis 1."

The room erupted into frantic talking.

"We must hit him, kill him."

"Killing him will knock the invasion off balance."

"Throw everything we have at him, now!"

"Unfortunately…" Ersonus spoke above his colonels until they were all quiet, "the warboss is not alone. He has brought a whole horde of his best warriors with him. A direct attack would be ill-advised at this point. Based on intercepted messages between elements of the enemy, we believe he is headed for Angel's Peak." Ersonus pointed at the battle map, to the mountain in the middle of Urbanis 1.

Angel's Peak.

Supposedly Erson first landed upon Ersonia upon the site of a great mountainside temple to the Emperor in Angel's Peak. It was one of the most holy sites on Ersonia and part of the reason why Essendrav had to be held. The legend of Angel's Peak told of how the hill clans once had to unite under Erson to combat the a horde orks that poured onto them. From Angel's Peak, Erson fought with the hill clans until he was slain, defending the temple to the Emperor. Then, an angel emerged from a cave in Angel's Peak the moment after Erson died. The angel vanquished the orks with its mighty spear and saved the clans before vanishing. A prophecy in the hill clans told of the angel's return if ever the mountain should split. The colonel was too old to believe in fairy tales but allowed some of the younger officers to wonder every time they heard the story.

As if a mountain could split!

"What is in Angel's Peak that could interest him?" asked Colonel Farson.

"Probably wants to check for iron," suggested Major Safferon, who was filling for his own colonel, who presently lay in a field hospital with a piece of shrapnel lodged in his back.

The appearance of Skullkicker was hardly the only surprise today. As soon as the meeting ended, Vistigo was summoned to his office, where a vox-set awaited him.

"How could you let us take these orders?" demanded Lystartro after he'd done reciting his problems with the mission he'd gotten.

"I am sorry but they are from the marshal himself," replied Vistigo sadly. "It is not too complicated and requires no specialty. Essendrav is already overstretched, we cannot send you support." His voice grew harder. "I am sorry, but the marshal cannot be negotiated with." He cleared his throat and awkwardly informed the captain of Skullkicker.

"Great," the captain grumbled.

"The Emperor protects," offered Vistigo.

"Aye, the Emperor protects," Lystartro answered.

…

Agent 33 ducked and jumped a flying leap through the broken window. She landed on her back, pistols out. Rattling off a spray of shots, she dropped three of her pursuers. With a twist of her legs, she was back on her feet and charging down the hallway of the office she'd leapt into. She kicked the door at the opposite end of the hall and dodged outside into the streets of Urbanis 1.

In her nimble suit, she tried her vox-link again. Nothing. She looked over her shoulder at her mad pursuers, charging, waving blades and crude guns. Their alien cries offended her. Her augmetic eye could see the sweat on their skin, the tattoos on their bodies and the hate in their eyes. There were dozens of them. She had to run.

'Emperor damn it,' she thought, 'I cannot complete my mission now.' She shot two of the orks and dodged the bullets the other fired at her. Her augmented muscles swept her across the street and up to a bombed-out warehouse. She jumped over a heap of fallen bricks as she did so, snapping off two more shots. Two orks died, shot in the brain. Agent 33 ran into the warehouse and through the maze of rubble within, crossing in and out of squares of light left by the holes in the roof, and vaulted out the door at the other end of the room. It took less than five seconds.

Agent 33 was sure she'd escaped the orks as she ducked into another ruined office. It was an arbites headquarters, a good sign to her superstitious mind. She took a second to bow to the huge gold aquilla that hung stood in the middle of the foyer. Now, she could reflect on her situation.

Like she already knew, her mission had failed. Her punishment was not as important right now as getting out alive. Her vox-link was broken so she'd have some trouble getting out. Agent 33 slipped behind the aquilla to reload. As she rose up, peeking out from her cover to check for her pursuers, she heard someone coming she was on her feet but froze as the person emerged from a doorway and into the foyer.

BANG!

"My my, silly assassin," mocked the man who'd emerged. "You cannot outrun us." Agent 33 could not reply, or even shoot back. She fell loosely to floor, all her grace and strength robbed from her by a single bullet from the man's gun. Her weapons fell from her hands. Thus, Agent 33 was killed in action.

The orks flooded into the room moments later. All they found was a bloody aquilla. The slender shadow they had chased was gone.

…

_Diary_

_Lystartro has us going to Urbanis 1. I'm sitting in the hull of my transport as I'm writing this. I can hardly say that I'm surprised. I knew our duties would take us somewhere dangerous. I assume he knows what he's doing, taking the 112__th__ and the 89__th__. He says we will be able to see Angel's Peak from where we're dropped off. It will be an honour to kill aliens in sight of that mountain, just as my own ancestors did. Heh, listen to that, I'm writing like one of those preachers you see on the broadcasts. _

_I'm not scared. I just have faith that this mission is doable and that the commanders were all careful. I tell myself that if this mission couldn't be done by us 89__th__, then we wouldn't be here. _

_I keep having flashbacks to that ork I killed. I keep picturing it and telling it that it can no longer threaten Ersonia. Those muscles, those fangs and that anger, all of it was removed from my world by me. Thinking about that ork gives me the motivation I need, reminding me that no matter how bad it gets or how useless I feel, I still got one of the enemy. _

_It's a few hours to our destination. Wow, Essendrav sure is big. Of course, this sneak-flier, whatever it's called, has to move slow to make little noise. I should get some sleep now. It's nighttime. _

…

The great ship lifted up and vanished into the night sky, joining the stars. Below, the moonscape of rubble reached up towards the sky, with skeletal beams of steel standing like trees amongst the tortured urban wreckage. Streets had disappeared beneath landslides of falling rockcrete. Most of the tallest buildings had been gutted and collapsed by years of shelling. Random, wild craters punched wounds in the whole sorry mess of mazelike destruction. Every half-destroyed shadow of a building could hold the enemy. Every hole where a glass window once stood could be a trap. The disorienting chaos of this grey jungle was too easy to get lost in.

'How could anyone find their way here?' Lystartro wondered, 'much less at night?' He left that to the experts and looked out at his two companies. The guardsmen of the 112th were spreading out, their dusty fatigues giving them some subtlety in this urban mess. The babies of the 89th were imitating their weathered comrades-in-arms.

"Captain?" Frens appeared from the shadows. Lystartro jumped. "Sorry," Frens said quickly, "should the 89th be helping us with the perimeter?"

"Support," Lystartro whispered back. "Send them in to places that might hide the enemy." That was a foolish order. Everywhere could hide the enemy. These ridges of rubble and those gutted ruins above their heads…everything could hide the enemy. "I don't want any situations out there. Quick and clean." Frens nodded and disappeared. Lystartro took cover behind a fallen steel beam and peered out from behind it, at a nearby office tower. In the dark, it appeared only as a rectangular eclipse in the night sky. Lonely, it looked like a mountain, staring down at the dead flatness around it. He bet when the sun rose, he would spot an orkish glyph hoisted over the tower's front.

Orks. They were here, somewhere. The whisperwing flyer was the perfect stealth vehicle for a mission like this, but that only meant they wouldn't be killed in transit. Now that they were here, they had hundreds of square miles of ork territory to think about. The only comfort was the thought of the guerilla groups that lurked around here, living like rats in their destroyed homes and fighting like devils against the unending foe. Lystartro hoped to run into them. They too were out here, somewhere.

The overwhelming peace of the quiet night got to him as his men finished establishing a perimeter around their drop zone and dug in. Lystartro's eyes shifted from crag to crag of rubble around him. That statue, peaceful and silent, that lip of a shell crater blasted in the side of that heap of fallen rock, it reminded him of somewhere else.

Long ago.

The reclamation. Driving out in that lorry, up the steep rocky hill, filled with crags. It was a natural moonscape. That rock, that one there, shifting, revealing the pit beneath it and out comes... An ork! An ork! He fires his flamer. The lorry hits a mine. Lystartro found himself under the flipped lorry, surrounded by burning corpses. Flaming oil is dripping from a crack in the lorry's bed, now above him. Into his face. One of his arms is trapped under the lorry. He feels his hand is on fire. The pain is incredible. AH!

He is going to die! He cannot escape this hell because his arm is stuck, try as he might to pull it out. So he grabs his bayonet to free himself. He screams to ease the pain.

That was a long time ago.

"Yes Cav?" Lystartro asked, shaking off the flashback as he flexed his augmetic fingers.

"Captain, we've all dug in. Three meters apart, just like you ordered," Cav whispered obediently. "Is there something wrong?" Even in the negligible light of his light-stick, Cav had spotted the troubled look in Lystartro's face.

"It's just quiet, that's all," Lystartro walked to the closest empty shell hole and sat at its bottom, shifting a piece of broken pipe aside to make room for Cav. "I want your men to lie low, not to shoot at anyone unless I say so," he continued. "We're not here to kill, we're here to rescue. If one ork knows we're here, we all die."

"Anything we should watch for?" Cav asked.

"Like what?" Lystartro began his inspection of his combat shotgun.

"You're the veteran. Do the orks use any special kind of weapon in a place like this? How do we fight it?"

Orks with flamethrowers, hiding in pits…

"In a place like this, you fight the orks by hiding from them," replied the grizzled captain. "Usually you can see an ork coming at you. But I've heard of some of greenskins who'll dress up like a gloryboy and sneak about. Like this one time, back on Rynn's World, the Astartes had to take to the jungles to knock out a little nest of them." Lystartro knew he'd made a mistake by mentioning Astartes. Now Cav's questions would never end.

But they didn't come. Not the questions the captain expected at least.

"How did you lose your hand, captain?" Cav asked, pointing.

…

The crosshair focused square on the young soldier's head. In a press of a button, the image grew larger, until he could almost see the whites in his eyes. The young soldier was pointing to the other man's augmetic hand. At this distance, the kill would be clean and easy. That lasgun the youth was cleaning would do him no good if he lost his head and that other man's shotgun could not reach the sharpshooter, not in the ruins of the office tower. The shooter's breath relaxed.

…

"How did you lose your last name, strawhead?" Lystartro smiled back, trying to ease the question with a laugh. Cav sensed his discomfort. Damn. Now he'd have to say it. Though there was nothing that happened during the siege of Rynn's World that Lystartro couldn't handle, that one incident during the reclamation had tarnished his whole experience there.

"Got pinned under a burning lorry," Lystartro muttered. Cav was lucky, most people got a simple, heroic lie. "Cut off my own arm to keep from burning. See that on my face? It's from the same thing. They'll tell you in basic that you're all supposed to be a bunch of fearless bastards in the Imperial Guard. Not true. Look around at the older men from my company and they've all got a story they won't talk about." Lystartro brushed a moth off out of his eyes with his augmetic hand. "We've all got some daemon wrapping on our brains." He looked at Cav, who was staring at him like a grox.

"Sorry," chuckled Lystartro, "I didn't mean to go on like that. Like I said, I took it off to escape a…well, a burning truck."

"It's alright," Cav answered, "just not often a superior tells you it's okay to be scared sometimes."

"Yeah, but don't tell Kins I said that."

"I think Kins hates me."

"Of course he does. You're a strawhead and Kins fought for the loyalists during the Halivor uprising."

"Not all the clans followed Halivor," Cav replied, "alright, a few people from my clan went with him but they got rightfully put down." He rolled up his sleeve to show the captain his tattoo. "You don't need last names in a clan. I'm with clan Angelspear. See? That mountain, that's Angel Peak and the angel of the Emperor that came out of it." Lystartro nodded, recalling the story. He'd come across clan-structured societies on Imperial worlds before. Like on that little colony world of Marmaxil IV. They had had names like Clan Vistah, Clan Jara and Clan Usor. But these hill clans were more noble than the simple xenophobic families of Marmaxil IV. The hill clans had a duty to live up to. He found himself admiring the Angelspear. There was no one so dedicated on the hive world where he'd come from. Just an ocean of gangs, ruffians and greedy nobles. Unlike on Morchaghan, where profit was the only currency, these Ersonians also dealt in honour.

"It's an honour to fight so close to Angel Peak. I want to do my best and I can't have Kins being a jerk to me in front of my troops," Cav whispered timidly.

"Well, only if you deserve it," Lystartro replied, smiling. Talking bad about a commissar to a superior officer? This boy had some guts, the good kind, of course. Cav ended the conversation there when he began to clean his lasgun. Lystartro finished with his shotgun some time later, kissed it and set it on his lap. He looked at Cav working and waited for him to make a mistake to be corrected. He did not. He went through all the proper movements, said all the proper prayers and applied the proper oils like any good guardsman. What a fresh breath of air! He hoped the others were as good with their lasguns.

"Do you believe in the angel's return?" Lystartro asked.

"If it does return, I hope it's soon," Cav said.

"But do you believe in it. Do most people in Angelspear believe in it coming back?" Lystartro asked.

"My family believes it will, I guess I do too. Just…" he pointed to the land around them, "sometimes its hard to believe in angels."

…

The shooter squinted and zoomed up on the youth's arm. His sleeve had rolled up to expose the Angelspear insignia, tattooed into his skin. The shooter took his hand off the trigger and took the crosshair off the boy's head.

"They've got a hill clan boy with them," he said. "I wonder what this means?"

A moment later, he was gone.


	4. The Maze of Ruin

Three useless vox sets lay at the bottom of the shell hole.

"What I mean by that, sir," Husky looked from the vox set and back to Kins and Frens, "is that I cannot explain it."

"If the problem is mundane, I'll have you killed for this," groaned Frens in disbelief, only half serious. "Do you know what that means, trooper?" Trooper Husky looked back at Barlian and Malv, who were backing away. They'd stood by him all throughout the Chazz campaign and were now abandoning him to this Ersonian commissar's red face.

"Inspect it if you want, the three of them are blown," Husky admitted. He looked up out of the shell hole at Bolfe, who walked by with a steaming cup full of ration-beans. In the morning light, it was easy to see the vox set was untouched on the outside. "Should I tell…"

"The captain?" asked Frens, "no, I'll tell him. I want it worked on. If those sets are dead, we can't call in our lift." Three sets. They brought three sets to alert their pickup when it was time to leave this mission behind. They took three so they could afford to lose one. Those sets were their lifeline back to Urbanis 5. Now all three were gone. "Don't spread it to the younger guys. I don't want panic, with a lot of people making noise and waking up the orks." He slid out of the hole and through the craggy swamp of wreckage to Lystartro to tell him the bad news.

"Men," Lystartro said with the grim toughness his fighting buddies knew him so well for as he leaned on a fallen wall and rolled a shotgun shell over in his augmetic hand. Before him, the whole of 5th company and the members of the 89th they had with them, were all sheltered in an especially deep crater in the middle of the destruction. "We came here on special orders from the top. Our objective is simple. Stay here, at this spot, until this special person we're picking up gets here. We will do that. We just need to remain here and survive." He tossed the shell to his other hand. "Now, I have just been informed that our three vox sets…don't work," he smiled sarcastically. "Which is great because now we're pretty much stuck in Urbanis 1 until help can get to us or until we get the damn things working again. In the meantime, hang tight and look for our friend. He will mark his position with a little flare of green light. He's out there somewhere and he needs our help. Who is he?" Lystartro shrugged. "Command wouldn't tell me who. Just keep your eyes open for a pop of green light somewhere out there." He gestured to an eternity of grey. "At ease boys."

….

"I can't believe we're stuck," Tigerson whispered. He and Cav poked their faces out through a rockrete wall that stood, unconnected to a greater structure, in the middle of the destruction.

"It's probably dust in the crystals…or something," Cav replied, "just keep watch." There wasn't much to look at. The wreckage of streets, piles of rubble and skeletons of half-standing buildings was pretty much all there was to see, except for one thing.

Far in the distance was one lonely shadow, tall and pointed, on the horizon. Angel's Peak. Cav had seen it a thousand times. It felt so strange to be fighting aliens while so close to something he'd always associated with pride and happiness. Essendrav was a city he'd almost never visited in peacetime. But Angel's Peak…he'd been there once every year, at least.

"Well," said Tigerson, "there's nothing out there. Just like the last freaking few hours."

"Least there's no damned orks," Cav answered with a bit of gratitude. "Better than fighting them, I guess." He peered across the field of destruction. Across it, he saw an office tower, standing miraculously amongst a landscape of destroyed buildings. Huge glyph of alien design had been hoisted across its ruined surface. A crude skull, make of metal scrap with triangular teeth, angry eyes and painted red, wearing a horned helm or perhaps daemonically horned. He had nothing but that to look at all day. At less than one kilometer away the building was too close. He could practically hear the orks that he knew were inside, infesting it like maggots in meat. At least if he died here, he could take that one ork with him, that one ork he'd killed. Cav didn't take his gaze from the tower for the whole morning. If something came, it would be from there. How many orks could fill a place that size? He'd heard from Malreth that fifty-three orks could infest one hab unit. An entire tribe could be in that tower, thousands of warriors, hungry for blood.

…

The tower had once been the property of a banking company who'd owned much of this part of Essendrav. It had employed over two thousand clerks in that one building alone. It stood undamaged through sheer luck and the orks hadn't knocked it down so to hoist the glyph of the red horned head, to strike fear into the humans who still lived in these ruins. The glyph was the pride and joy of an or knob named Killamongra, who was known by his rivals for his huge toothy grin that could strike fear into the gretchen and the human enemy.

Killamongra lay across an accounting desk, his teeth bared through his open mouth. Black holes filled his mouth: hollow vacancies left after he'd been bashed in the face. His gut was unzipped from chin to groin, his organs splayed around him. His axe was broken over his body. Around him, the twisted remains of seven of Killamongra's largest subordinates lay, headless. In the office around him, dead orks lay, still clutching their weapons. Spent shell casings littered the ground like sand. Looks of fear were frozen on a number of dead greenskin faces. A few had taunting messages and symbols, drawn on their faces in their own blood. Three more hung from the ceiling by their necks, swaying like executed criminals.

"Arghk…" one of the orks upon the floor shifted, its eyes opening. Though the ork was missing its legs, it still tried to get up, pushing weakly at the floor, trying to lift itself upright, though in vain. The maimed alien was too close to dead to have the strength.

Footsteps approached it. The ork blinked at its enemy and snarled weakly, then fought harder to get up. A cruel cackle filled the room as the ork roared in stress. The legless ork clawed against the floor, reaching for a gun, a knife, a piece of bone, anything to fend off this nightmare with. It was pulled across the floor. The ork's cries filled the room.

Then, in a crack of bone, it went quiet.

The legless ork lay dead, eyes wide. A bloody hole lay in its chest, boring into a now hollow chest cavity where its heart had been. Of the killer, there was no sign.

…

"…I would call them adequate," Lystartro finished. Kins nodded, his eyes narrowing. "What's wrong, commissar?"

"I'm thinking," he replied, setting down his empty ration can. "I know at least three problem cases amongst the 89th. You might think they're enough for your needs captain, but I can see deeper into a man's soul." Lystartro frowned, glad it was only him and Kins in this lonely shell hole, deep inside the perimeter. Everyone else was watching the landscape for their objective or repairing the damned vox sets.

"What are you saying? You think you're better with men than me?"

"I know how to evaluate morale," Kins replied. "For one, the 89th is still barely experienced. They haven't had time to become brave, you know? But also, there's this one PDFer that I know won't live through this mission." Lystartro knew exactly who. "Mieel. I heard him crying in his sleep last night. Damned near kept me up. We can't have weaklings in the PDF, much less the guard."

"Boy lost his brother. Real close to him," Lystartro explained.

"Yeah, I know," Lystartro said with a commissar's arrogance. "He's got to be dealt with, he can't be sitting around, weighting the rest of us down. Either I do away with him or you get him sent somewhere else. Let him bug Arcantillius."

"Sending him to another company won't help. Besides, I respect Captain Arcantillius too much to piss on his men like that. I'll deal with Mieel…"

"Summary execution should do it," Kins said, "let me…"

"No Kins, there's a lot of former gangers in this volunteers unit, like Tigerson. He's got an old soul, that kid," Lystartro replied. "They'd knock you off for sure if you shot one of them for something as minor to them as a little crying."

"Hm?" Kins showed his own inexperience. Lystartro wished he had a better commissar than this old cadet.

"Contrary to popular belief, gangers make poor guardsmen." 'And even worse Astartes,' he thought without saying.'

"They're insubordinate, they're loyal to their old gang first and the guard second, a lot of them are addicted to weird stuff, they scribble their stupid gang signs on everything and they don't know anything that any farmer can't learn in basic," Lystarto replied. "On Morchaghan, commissar's got short lifespans. They always turn up dead with gang signs sprayed on them the day after a summary execution of a former ganger guardsman. I don't want to risk the patience of a unit with a guy like Tigerson in it until I know how many gangers there are in the unit. Got to make sure its safe before you move. There's another lesson from Rynn's World, commissar."

"Don't talk down to me you…" Kins shed his commissar arrogance and calmed down, throwing on the calculated calm of someone from high up. "I mean…sir, what will you do?"

"Make sure Mieel shuts up more. But enough about him. Cav says you hate him and he's tired of it," Lystartro gave a little smile at Kins' young, aristocratic indignity.

"Wha…he told you?" Kins shook his head. "He's a traditionalist who's losing time and needed sleep by writing in his diary. I want a leader of him, not a scribe. If he'd put down that diary, I'd stop calling him out on it."

"I think you might have a grudge against his people. Just as gangers keep their old lifestyle after they join the guard, so too do some people keep their old anger after the war's done," Lystartro sneezed out some urban dust. "I'm talking about the Halivorian war."

"Yeah," Kins said after a pause. "Alright, fine captain, you caught me. Fine, I admit it, I freaking hate strawheads. A bunch of anti-imperial scum."

"Not all of them followed Halivor."

"Enough of them followed him for it to be a problem. I see a rebel in each one of them and it doesn't help when Cav writes notes about our activities in his diary every single night."

"You think he's a spy?" Lystartro didn't expect such a serious accusation.

"I think he might not hold the Imperial creed as close to his heart as he should," Kins paused as two men from the 112th walked by. "You warned of insubordination sir. I think we should remember that insubordination we get from the 89th won't always come from former gangers."

"And is there a cause to think Cav is being insubordinate?" Lystarto asked.

"The diary, he spends too much time on it," Kins replied.

"Then I'll get him to shorten his entries," Lystartro replied. "If its that big a deal to you. Anything else?" Again, Kins looked indignant. Lystarto realized it had been his tone. The little commissar couldn't find enough strength to come up and verbally confront the large captain, so he shrunk into his uniform like a turtle. His cheeks almost touched his collar, which looked big on the man.

"You like him?" Kins asked.

"Who? Cav? He's good with his lasgun, he held his own in the wall attack. I see a warrior of the Emperor in him."

"I mean personally. Why'd you take me up so powerfully on Cav when there's still Mieel to deal with?" Kins asked. Lystartro grinned from ear to ear. Kins looked so spiteful and small, like a child who wasn't getting his way. He must have been trying to accuse him of choosing favourites, anything to discredit his protection of Cav. Cav had been right: Kins did hate him.

Lystartro began to speak but was interrupted by trooper Tarlos.

"Captain," Tarlos said, "there's something with the vox you should see." He was gone a second later. Like Tigerson, Tarlos had been a ganger in his former life. Now in his forties, he was one of the men here who'd been with the regiment since the very start. If it hadn't been for his old habits, Tarlos would be a lieutenant by now.

"Kins, when you're in the guard, every man you fight with is your brother and your friend. Yes, I like Cav. Why should I not?" Lystartro said, standing up.

"Another lesson from Rynn's World, captain?" Kins asked.

"No commissar, I learned that in basic." He was starting to despise Kins.

…

_Diary._

_The end of our first full day here. I have been told by the captain I am to write short entries to appease the commissar. _

_Nothing happened all day. The vox sets are broken beyond repair. The captain told us all that the internal systems were all knotted together, like a rope, and on all three no less. There is an uneasy rumor going around, that someone among us did it. The captain is looking into it. _

_No orks. _

"That's enough," Lystartro said. Cav nodded and put his diary away. Once again, he and the captain shared the same shell hole alone. Unlike last night, Kins was in the hole next to them, listening. Cav shut off his lantern and lay back in the darkness.

"Do you really think one of us did it?" asked Cav innocently.

"Cav, if it was one of us, it wasn't any of my 112th boys. Did you see those insides? Everything was scrunched up like a tissue. That was no accident. I want you turning your outfit inside out, looking for someone who might have done it." He lowered his voice to a near mute whisper, "leave Kins to me." Kins? As much as Cav loved to think Kins was an enemy of the Imperium, having the commissar backstab their mission was disturbing.

A low cry broke the night. Cav and Lystartro were on their feet in seconds, guns raised. But the cry broke down into childish sobs. They heard a tearful voice cry for its mother.

"It's Mieel," groaned Cav.

"That's it," Kins loaded his bolt pistol and rose out of his hole. "No more of this." Cav felt his blood boil. If Kins dared hurt one of Cav's friends, he's have hell to pay. The sobs died down as Lystarto stopped Kins.

"A gunshot might attract orks," he said. "Besides, its gone now. I'll deal with him in the morning. Remember what I told you." Kins cursed, his enraged voice burning the dark.

"If he wakes me up one more time, I knife him. Slowly. Then you can listen to him cry and sob all you want," he disappeared into his hole.

"One more thing Cav," added the captain as they settled down, "I order you to fix Mieel before he brings the orks on us."

Once or twice, during the hour of time that Cav had to himself as he tried to fall asleep, he heard Mieel crying again. He tensed, anxiously waiting to hear Kins stand up and go off to murder the crying boy. It didn't happen: Kins was asleep. He must have been crying for hours, judging by the amount of time it took for Cav to go to sleep. He had hazy half-dreams of waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of Mieel's sobbing, then going back to sleep. His dreams were filled with the sound of crying.

The next morning, Cav woke up with a stretch. Lystartro was still asleep and the sun was dim in the sky. Cav shook sleep from his eyes. He promised himself that today would be the day the guy they were rescuing would show up so they could go back to Urbanis 5. Of course, there was the vox problem…

Vox sets and mysterious saboteurs were forgotten as the cool morning air was broken by Mieel's distant cries. This time, a red-faced Kins stood up, a vicious bayonet in his fists.

"That's it," Kins said, storming across the urban moonscape to the distant shell hole where Mieel was, following the sound.

"Wait!" Cav was up a moment later, hurrying after Kins. "I have orders…" he walked around a fallen pile of rubble to the edge of the perimeter. He caught up with Kins after a small sprint. "Wait!" They were about halfway there. Kins turned on Cav and raised the knife, as if to stab. He did not, but Cav, who had left his gun behind, flinched.

"I don't care if he's your friend or your brother or your cousin or your precious little baby," Kins barked, "that coward has to die!" His shouts alone could have woken the orks. From around the jungle of ruins, men from both the 112th and the 89th emerged, some complaining about Mieel.

"I can shut him up," Cav replied, stepping in Kins' way.

"So can I," Kins replied. "You think that mewling little inbred has any place in the Emperor's armies? He's not even good enough for the damned PDF shotstoppers!" Kins, in full battle dress, was howling. "And if you don't move your face out of my way, I'll gut you too!"

"Lystartro said I'm to…"

"I don't care what Lystartro said you stupid Halivorian strawhead!" Kins unclenched his fist. Cav was on the ground, his temple burning from where Kins had just punched. A few cries of outrage leapt from the 89th. Cav saw three people, including Tigerson, swarm around Kins, shouting angrily.

"Here," strong hands helped him up. It was Lystartro. "What happened?" Cav ignored him, rubbing his head, he raced after Kins, dodging through the ruins. He walked around the corner of a destroyed building and froze. Kins stood there, along with the people who'd followed him, staring in shock into the crater where Mieel hid.

Mieel was sitting against the side of it, face flushed with tears, trembling. He wasn't crying: his eyes had dried themselves. He had his knees tucked into his chest. He didn't even comprehend anyone, not even Kins, with his drawn blade. He was staring at the corpses of the three 112th guardsmen he'd shared his hole with. Their bloody remains were strewn all around the place, in such a mess that Cav immediately suspected the killer had been messy on purpose. A skull there, a spine there, intestines there…it was awful. Mieel was covered in blood, though not his own. The corpses were not newly dead. Cav guessed they'd died the night before, when he first heard Mieel begin to cry.

"He's your damned mess now," Kins cursed, storming past Lystartro as he appeared.

…

"What did you see?" Cav asked again. He offered Mieel a ration tin. Mieel didn't take it. He hadn't said anything since the morning. He'd stopped sobbing, but that was it. His wide eyes stared off into space. Mieel had always been timid and clumsy, but now he was a vegetable. Totally unresponsive, he'd frustrated even Cav. Kins had spared him only because he was the only witness, though rumor abounded that Mieel had killed those men. Everyone who knew Mieel knew he couldn't have done it, especially to 112th guardsmen. Everyone else swore they saw nothing last night. Cav now sat alone with Mieel, behind a short, ruined wall near the middle of their secured zone. "It's me, Cav, you can tell me," he said. "Mieel? What did you see?" He prodded the frozen youth with the ration tin.

Useless.

"Battlefield shock, the worst I've ever seen, and I've been around," Lystartro said as he appeared over the lip of the crater. "Worst case is he'll just lose touch with the world." Cav patted Mieel's shoulder, trying to rub some life back into him. Maybe some assurances that he was safe from whatever he saw last night could help him recover? "Mieel, you have to tell us. Or write it down?" He offered him his diary.

"Don't let Kins see you take that out," Lystartro said with a weak laugh. Kins was currently overseeing the interrogations.

"Notren would want you to speak," Cav said. "Remember, riding the grox? I know he'd be helping you remember if he was here." Still nothing. "It's just me Mieel, it's just Cav." Lystartro sighed.

"Just lose touch," he muttered. "Admirable try, though."

"Does it get better?" Cav asked, "come on, he's got to know how badly we need to hear what he's got to say." He looked at Mieel. "I know you're in there. Talk to me. What did you see?"

"I'm amazed he's even awake," Lystartro remarked.

"Yeah. He was up all last night, screaming," Cav suddenly had to duck. An explosion roared to life a short distance away. Rocks flew everywhere, missing them by inches. Mieel screamed like an animal and ducked into the hole and was almost flattened by Cav and Lystartro. More explosions leapt up. Shouts were echoing from the perimeter. Then, lasfire!

"The orks have found us. Throne damn it," Lystartro cursed. "Get ready Cav, it's time to show me if you're worth it."

"I've killed an ork already," Cav proudly proclaimed, remembering that flyer's jacket and that oversized rocket.

"Good job. Kill more."

…

There were five men with him: two 89th and three 112th. Tigerson readied his weapon as solid slugs hammered into the stone around him. He ducked behind the pile of bricks with the others and prayed. He heard a rocket whiz overhead. A scream broke the din. This reminded him of Erson City, just not as unorganized.

"Get ready!" shouted the 112th sergeant, a man named Jhones. The others 112th were the vox-operator: a man named Husky, though he was missing his vox right now, and a man named Tokrox, a hairy fellow. Tigerson didn't know his rank.

An enraged alien cry split the wind. The shots stopped.

"Fire at will!" Jhones rose up and fired. Tigerson and the others followed. Through the ruins, Tigerson could see a small mob of greenskins rushing on. The front few toppled down, killed by the opening volleys.

Greenskinned and dirty, they were dressed in brown rags that were augmented with random fixtures of sheet metal and padded hide. A few wore helmets, which were just bowl-shaped pieces of scrap. They all carried guns, some in one hand and some in two. They were frightful, but Tigerson didn't fear them. Their alien faces just didn't scare him like a human. They were just animals, animals with guns.

"HAHAHA!" Tigerson laughed in delight at the easy targets. He emptied his lasgun into the closest: an ugly thing with a burly machine gun. He saw it stumble and stagger as his lasbolts smote it. At last, it fell, like a runner falling from exhaustion.

"Got one!" whooped Salson, the gruff 89th who'd been with Tigerson since the start of basic. He was violence-hungry brawler who thought he was invincible. Tigerson liked him.

"Get ready!" Jhones shouted, "we've got to go soon!" they were close. The orks had left over a dozen dead behind, but more were coming through the ruins. Wow, some were shooting vainly into the air. "Go!" Jhones warned, dodging into the maze of rubble with the other two 112th. Tigerson and Salson were up, along with Jayson, from the 89th. They got into cover, though Jayson took a shot to the knee. He lagged behind, then was brained by a shot that came through the wall. Salson laughed at the sick violence of it. He reloaded.

"Come on!" he shouted in bravado. Tigerson grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a wall.

"You're not invincible," he said. "Keep to cover." The lasfire around them grew more intense. No doubt, more orks were appearing. "We have to find a…" he paused as a great green ork stalked around the corner. It was grinning madly with its tusks, a rough snub-nosed pistol in its left hand and a whirling chainsaw in the other. The tattered remains of a PDF flack vest was draped across its rag-clad chest. So the boys shot it in the head. The ork still had time to roar in anger and swing its blade as it died, prompting Tigerson to shoot it again to keep it down.

"We split that one, okay?" Salson asked. He ducked down as loud metal rounds tore into the pile of rubble they stood opposite from. Some ork outside their vision had seen its buddy fall and was spraying them with bullets.

"Damn," Tigerson cursed, pulling away from the crack where the ork had come from. "Damn orks."

"Holy thorne!"

Salson was shooting wildly as a pair of orks crawled over the wall. One fired madly down with its pistol, somehow missing as it hoisted itself to the other side. The other carried a machine gun, fixed with a jagged bayonet. He was laughing as a shot he fired took the pistol ork in the face, knocking it off the wall and out of sight. It never returned. The other jumped down and let out a beastly roar, swinging its gun at Salson like a hammer. Tigerson took aim and shot it in the back of its helmeted head. Salson rolled to the side as the gun came down, missing him by inches. He stood up and fired into the orks gut while Tigerson shot its back. The ork stumbled as both boys stopped shooting. Salson grinned like a fiend as he walked up to the ork an bayoneted it in the gut, again and again. The ork did not fight back and fell backwards, hitting the ground like a sack of meat. Its gun went off as it died. The weapon rattled explosively as it discharged its last bullets into the wall.

"Ha! Another!" Salson laughed. His cheek was neatly cut, by the ork's bayonet. When he noticed it, he laughed harder. "Scar! Scar! It'll look great. We should give you one!" He poked his head around the wall, looking for more enemies. "Die!" he yelled, firing at something Tigerson could not see. "Hey ugly! Die!"

Tigerson was knocked down by the sudden explosion. When the dust settled, he could feel pains throughout his body. Salson lay dead a meter from where he had been: killed by a rocket. The wall was half destroyed. The dust cleared fast.

Three orks were coming through the dust, their large guns raised. One had a bolt for an eye and was scanning the ruins maliciously. Scanning for him. From where he lay, Tigerson raised his lasgun. The orks realized he wasn't dead just as he fired. One burst was a headshot, killin bolt-eye. The second burst was a headshot, killing the one with the topknot as it zeroed on him with its dual pistols. The third was a headshot, killing the bald one as it fired its first few shots. One lucky round grazed Tigerson's hat. He kept his lasgun raised and waited from where he lay.

Another ork came, carrying a rocket on a pole. A headshot dropped it. After five minutes of waiting had passed, Tigerson found he could think coherently again.

'Just killed four,' he thought. 'Am I crazy?' He found the strength to stand up. He was too busy to feel sorrow for Salson or fear. He swept through the ruins, closing in on the nearest source of fighting.

…

The maze of rubble was disorienting and close-quarters was a bad place to fight orks in. Kins knew that. Everyone in this sector knew that.

With Lystartro's two squads, they turned the corner to find another knot of orks, firing at something unseen from behind a fallen tower. Twenty lasguns raised and fired. One by one, the startled orks dropped.

"Sir!" someone shouted. Lystartro turned as an ork emerged from a hollow window from a nearby ruin as an ork lunged at him. The greenskin died on the spot, shot by nine different men. As it died it dropped a…

…a grenade!

"Cover!"

A guardsman Kins didn't know kicked the grenade as it went off. When the smoke cleared, two men were dead and the hero was missing his leg and thrashing like a fish. The captain spat out dust as he raised his shotgun at the ruin, in other words, at nothing.

"There's no damned…" Kins began. The walls of the ruin broke open in two places and orks poured out. More came from the windows. Jagged weapons, crude axes, makeshift clubs: all this and more could be seen in their massive paws. Kins clenched his teeth as he shot the nearest brute in the helmet while he drew his chainsword.

It was smaller than most designs, small enough to be sheathed. This was one of the distinctive features that made this chainsword truly Ersonian, as much a part of the planet's culture as the commissar himself. He felt proud as its teeth chewed through an orkish throat. Kins dodged back from the melee and shot an ork as it raised its cleaver to kill an injured man. He didn't stop the ork, but it was still satisfying to see the damage get done.

Lystartro's favourite lieutenant Frens was here. He'd been on Rynn's World with the captain and earned a good reputation among his men. He was a good fighter, that was clear. He killed three orks in the same way. He'd use his lasrifle to deflect their attack, twirl it around and shoot the ork in the face from point blank range. Block, twirl, blam! Block, twirl, blam! He alone had the trick mastered. Of course, he was a huge man, surpassed only by Lystartro himself.

Why did the captain fight with a shotgun? They took so long to reload and when there were orks pouring on you like rain, you needed to reload fast. Kins saw Lystartro lower his gun, knowing it was dry. An ork lunged at him, a piece of spiked pipe raised above his head in a two-handed swing. This was it, the captain was dead.

Kins felt admiration for the captain when he saw him scoop a fallen ork sword off the ground and step in to the attacker. The ork fell over him, the sword rammed to its hilt into its neck. His lapse almost cost him his life. Kins cut thorugh the attacking ork's gut just in time. The clumsy alien fumbled with its spilling guts and Kins cut the beast down with a backhand swing. The last few orks were dying. They'd taken a bite out of the squad, but Lystartro still had plenty of bodies. Kins looked around the dead to try and find Cav.

Nope, the strawhead was standing against the ruined wall, nursing his stomach with one hand and leaning on his lasgun like a crutch. His sleeves were pulled up and Kins could see his proud Angelspear tattoo, half-hidden under the dribble of blood that dripped from the cut on his arm. Damn.

…

Thirty-five dead. The number was tolerable, but angered Lystartro. This guy they were meeting had better be nothing less than a captain of the most esteemed Astartes chapter to be worth another day of this nonsense. When he learned that most of the dead were 112th, he felt some irritation. All this way, only to die here? On this stupid mission?

"Keep your eyes open, the orks will be back," he warned as he stood with Frens and Kins. "They'll always be back." He looked at Kins. "Another lesson from Rynn's World." Kins didn't reply. He too could feel their rivalry building. To have a commissar and the commanding officer dislike one another was far from healthy for the men. However, Lystartro's judgment was that Kins fell short of his duties to the commissariat in many places Secretly, he hoped this next attack would remove their little problem.

'Alternatively, I could not be a jerk to him,' he thought to himself. Not be a jerk to someone who made him angry? Ha! Leave diplomacy to the governors, killing people was his job.

"Captain," Kins continued, "there is the minor problem of Mieel. As he's the only surviving witness of what killed your…our men, I think you should know about him. Cav says he's gone missing." Finally, Kins was coming in handy.

"Missing?" Lystartro couldn't correct it. Explosions, yet again.

…

Cav had three power packs to use and one in his gun. He had nine young men of the 89th at his back. Coming across the ruins towards him was death by ork. Yet it wasn't what he had on his mind. Mieel wasn't where he left him. He wasn't with any of the group leaders. He was gone. He imagined Nortren, screaming at him in anger for losing track of Mieel. But what was he supposed to do?

"There they are! Kill them!" shouted Tigerson, his voice full of violence.

"Stay calm," Cav whispered to himself as he looked through the jungle of ruin. Thirty meters away, swarming like giant insects, were the greenskins. More rag-clad bodies, more metal scrap, more ugly helmets and more crude weapons. The orks had them outnumbered. He raised his lasgun to his cheek and reminded himself not to be frantic, to shoot carefully.

Their lasguns fired at once. Red spits of lasfire sliced into orkish bodies, shredding their flesh or popping off their armour plate. The mob continued spilling out of the ruins, rats from a hole, ants from a mound, in rising numbers. Too few of them fell. In a few seconds, they would reach the group.

"Scatter!" cried Cav, ducking behind a pile of wrecked brickwork. Someone fell dead against it, killed by the lead storm the orks were spitting at them. Two more of his fellow PDF died before they could properly disappear. Cav squinted through the dust the orkish bullets kicked up. That one rocket-berserker in his head was getting lonely. He would add more orks to give it friends.

Squinting, he took aim. Fire. Fire. Fire. No! Stay calm. How can he stay calm? Orks less than five seconds away. He fired and didn't notice if he killed anything. Shots pummeled his bricks. He ducked down and made his way across the debris-maze, with no rallying point except survival.

'Here's my honour,' he thought. 'Hooray for Angel's Peak.' He envisioned the bullets flying around him, the orks crushing his little pocket of survival and all the friends he'd lost. This didn't make him feel special. This wasn't glory. He dove into a shell hole and tripped over a 112th guardsman.

"Sorry…" Cav shut up when he saw the man had no head. It had been taken as a trophy by his orkish killer.

"_That's not something the propaganda guys made up, they actually do that. I've seen it. And if you're lucky, you'll see it too. If you're unlucky…well…we'll all know who you are soon enough,"_ had been Lystartro's words, way back when he was just another soldier instead of Cav's superior and the closest thing he had to a friend in the 112th. 'Not to me!' Cav thought with conviction. He would shoot off his own head before he would ever let an ork take it. 'Never, ever, EVER to me.' He could hear lasguns and the crude spit of ork weapons all around him. They came from all directions at once. He could only creep close to the nearest source.

Peeking around a corner of what might have been the still-standing corner of a long destroyed office was a furious exchange of fire between a number of 112th and the greenskins, who had taken cover in an especially large crater. All he could see of them were their guns and the tops of their evil heads. Finally: orks who weren't coming at him like maniacs.

He didn't get off a single shot.

He turned in time to see an ork round the corner he'd just crossed. He raised his lasgun and loosed a burst of shots before it could raise its pistol or charge at him with its axe. One…two…three of his shots hit its face, with a fourth knocking off its leather cap. The monster fired randomly as it fell down. A second ork appeared and bashed the first to one side before it fell. Cav held his breath and fired again. He hit the monster, but it only seemed to get angrier. It roared as a lasbolt melted off a tiny piece of the metal plate it wore on its shoulder. Cav ducked and ran, sprinting across open ground to take cover behind a heap of debris that was hidden from the pit of orks. Shots followed him on his way there. He jumped behind the pile and looked out in time to see the ork he'd hit chase him. Only when he'd taken cover did he notice it was in the middle of a half ring of fallen rockrete slabs to tall and smooth to climb. He was trapped here. Cav still raised his lasgun and forgot about staying calm as the ork came.

CLICK

The lasgun reported its emptiness. Cav hurried to reload. As for the ork, it lay in the dirt, brought down by the sheer number of lasbolts thrown at it. Cav had little time to celebrate as yet more orks came in the second one's wake. He ducked into cover, to hide. No shots were glancing off the rocks around him, giving him a little sense of safety. When he looked out, he saw the last of the group heave itself at the 112th.

A grenade blast shook the air over the mad gunshots. He saw a second cast through the air and towards the crater of shooting orks. Another explosion.

'Why stop and stare?" Cav thought. Those orks who'd passed him didn't see him. He now popped out and pumped lasbolts into their backs. Caught between him and the 112th, the greenskins were brought down one at a time, the last one falling almost on top of an injured 112th trooper. But there was no time to rest.

More orks poured in, hot on the heels of the little group they'd just massacred. Evidently the orks in the pit had been destroyed, because a number of 112th left cover and tried to move up. They almost ran into the fresh mob. In a hurry they fell back, firing, with a few being knocked to the floor by enemy bullets. From his position, Cav fired. He just fired. There was nothing left to do. He thought he saw Lystartro with these guardsmen, fighting alongside Frens as the orks fell upon the guardsmen. Cav took aim at the back of the orkish mob and fired. Whether or not he killed anything was hard to tell. Lasbolts and ork bullets were flying in all directions. He saw plenty of both die.

He gulped as he saw a mechanical ork enter the fray. Well…as it got closer, he saw it's metal face had eyeholes and its arm was bare to reveal green flesh, but the eight foot monster was in all other ways a brown metal effigy of a horned ork, complete with a pair of bladed hands. Cav saw it attack Frens and chop deep into him, throw him to the ground and stomp on his back. A vengeful 112th man rushed him, but lost his head to a sweeping cleave from those arms.

Cav swallowed in fear. There, like a necklace around its neck, hung a rotten human head, still wearing its officer's cap, like a grisly bead on a chain. He considered shooting the ork but realized he already had, and did nothing to its armour.

He reloaded in a hurry, ducking down as a howling greenskin charged him, waving a sword. The monster blades at him with its pistol, which it quickly exhausted. Cav saw it wouldn't work: he wouldn't reload in time. Springing up, he stabbed the ork with all his might, right in the gut. He ducked. The ork brought its sword around in a heavy swing, missing by inches. It still elbowed Cav's forehead with its sword arm. Emperor…it was strong. Cav fell back. He stabbed the ork again, but it only seemed to get angrier. As the ork wheeled its sword back to attack again, Cav stabbed it's arm, to keep it from attacking. The ork moved its pistol to whip him with, but shuddered, evidently struck from behind, shot no doubt.

Then, a power sword took its pistol-hand off.

Cav stumbled back as a stranger in grey carapace armour brought his laspistol to the ork's face and shot it through the eye. He caught a brief glimpse at a full rebreather mask and a helmet before his savior continued to the main battle. Two more masked men jumped down from the rockrete slabs around Cav, hoisting bulkier variants of the lasgun. They stood in a perfect firing stance, taking cover behind Cav's heap of rubble. He felt a fantastic thrill watching them kill orks, shooting blue bolts that killed with every headshot. Their leader danced from ork to ork, his sword leaving dismemberment in his wake. No ork who stood near him lasted long. The great machine-ork turned in time to take a power sword through the visor of its helmet.

More masked men jumped down, firing steadily. The remaining orks melted away under the hail of death the newcomers were pouring on them. The last member of the mob died as the swordsman clove it from forehead to groin.

"Come on," one of the newcomers said, his voice distorted by his speaker.

"What?" Cav asked.

"Get your squad to come with us. We have to go," he said. Cav didn't even know which one was speaking. He noticed their names were printed on their helmets. If it wasn't for those names, he'd have no way of telling these man-shaped suits apart. Then, he let out a little laugh. Never before had he ever been through so much danger. Now that it was past, it felt like a game.

Then, he began to tally his kills. How many was that? Four? The rocket-berserker was now one of many faces in his mind.

…

"I'm the person you were sent here to pick up," said one of the stormtroopers while their sergeant cleaned his sword. Lystartro had assembled the survivors and brought them to the middle of their safe zone. Opposite them stood eight faceless stormtroopers and their sergeant.

'Great, all those men lost for a few gloryboys,' Lystartro disliked the vaunted elite of the Imperial Guard, but knew better than to hate the stormtroopers themselves. It wasn't their fault that he'd been sent here to fight for them. He promised himself that if he ever hated this man, it wouldn't be because of what he was or what he'd made them do. But still…gloryboys? Why send in a while company to pick them up? And Lystartro had been told there was only one person who needed to be picked up. Odd.

"We can't leave, my vox is dead…" Lystartro began.

"You were never meant to leave," replied the sergeant, sheathing his power sword. "I'm…"

"Speak to my face, sergeant." The swordsman unfastened and unclipped his rebreather mask. It mechanically lowered down to show the face of a young man with sandy eyebrows. If he had hair, it was short and covered by his helmet.

"Like I said, your mission briefing was a cover for what you're really here for," replied the sergeant. "I'm sergeant Mhal Dannit, of the 69th Stormtrooper company."


	5. The Water Dogs

The great truck rolled up along the dusty grey road between the urban canyon that cut through the ruined buildings of Urbanis 1. Orkish graffiti stared down at the monstrous vehicle as its rusty iron treads came to a grinding halt. A fresh puff of charcoal smoke coughed out from its tailpipes, Its foremost lights were the eyes of a fierce beast. Its hull was painted with glyphs that suggested alien teeth. Its body was armoured with such an armoured plating that Osprey doubted any of his men could dent it. He held his breath as the huge beast of a vehicle churned to a stop.

Crouching in the ruins of a bombed-out hab stack, Osprey brought the crosshairs of his rifle to bear on the head of the driver, who clambered out. The light green ork was unarmed and wore no helmet or hat. Osprey saw its mouth move as it shouted to the gretchen that crawled from the vehicle's body like maggots from meat. One of them ran to a trap door and opened it, while a team of the aliens drew a rubbery fuel hose from beneath it. Osprey did not shoot: that ork was not worth it.

"Water Dog Five ready," whispered the vox-bead in his ear. Osprey knew unit 5 was hiding opposite the street he himself was watching. "Water Dog Four ready." "Water Dog Three ready." In total, five squads of six men watched the great truck refuel. They waited for their target to show.

Osprey knew the ork on first sight. He trudged out of a large orkified ruin, a retinue of thuggish brutes stomping after him on iron boots. Through his scope, he could see the scabs of orange rust on their weapons. He could see the target, the fat orkish engineer, heft a stolen Mechanicus axe, who's gear-shaped blade had been refitted with a grinning ork icon to over the Mechanicus insignia. Osprey could see those eyes, those machine-eyes with their bulky mechanisms, surveying the huge metal beast that was guzzling its fill of oil.

"One, two, three…and…" Osprey brought his crosshair over the engineer's head. "Go." He fired.

With the abrupt force of a lightning strike, the ruins lit up with autogun fire. The surprised orks were caught in a ruthless crossfire that shredded the small gretchen and dropped a number of the engineer's bodyguards to the floor.

The engineer himself had weathered Osprey's bullet to the head. Its brains dribbled down its skull, but it walked strongly and calmly, returning shots up at the humans from a contraption that was welded to his arm. It looked like a microscope and a motor, but fired white streaks of heated energy that could melt rockrete.

"Die," Osprey whispered, firing again. The orks had scattered, but this engineer was not dropping or running. As more autogun shots hit him, the ork still stood, crouching behind his metal beast and firing. "Die!" Osprey didn't shout a lot anymore, but he did so as he sent another round into the ork's head. They had come all this way to have victory cheated from them by an invincible enemy? Osprey saw the ork hide behind his truck to shield himself from the other side of the street, but remain open to Osprey and the squads that hid on his side of the road.

"Fall down and die!" Osprey shouted in frustration, shooting once more. This shot claimed the ork at last. One of its augmetic eyes broke, its lens shattered like an eggshell. The truck's bright red paint behind the ork grew dark with blood. The engineer collapsed at last, all its strength and endurance vanishing with that precise hit.

As orks poured into the street, attracted by the sound of a fight, Osprey gave the order to flee. As quickly as they had come, they were gone. The orks searched the buildings they had been in but would find only empty rooms and spent autogun casings.

…

SLOSH SLOSH. The water came up to his heels, but it splashed with every footfall and gave Osprey something to listen to on this journey home.

Stupid people notched their rifles when they made a kill. Osprey was not one to vandalize his precious rifle like that. He didn't keep a tally of aliens he had slain in defense of his precious Essendrav. Such figures were a nuisance to keep track of. He wasn't here to make spot of his fighting, he was here to defend this city.

Osprey walked quietly through the glow-bulb lit sewers, along the route he had chosen beforehand. His autopistol was raised, but he had never found an ork in these narrow sewers. Every time he was down here though, he wondered it would be the day. He came to a fork and walked down the left path. He still had a half hour of underground hiking before he could return to his group's underground lair. He hoped the five squads, who were all taking different routes, would find their way back.

Along the way, he passed three ragged riflemen from another resistance group. In the orange dimness of the poorly-maintained lights, he could see their tattooed faces. Gangers. Osprey wordlessly tensed, preparing to shoot if they tried to rob him. They did nothing and walked past him, off to some unknown task. Orks were not down here, sure, but starving bandits and the desperate fighters from other groups of their sad resistance were almost as big a danger.

'Not this day,' Osprey thought as he loosened once the three men were gone. 'My only enemy today is orks.' Since the war began, Osprey had shot two humans: thugs who had tried to rob one of his autogunners when they noticed he was carrying food. That was the one tally he kept track of.

The rest of the trip through the brickwork tunnels passed by, with only the splash of the water to keep the lonely warrior company.

If it wasn't for these deep sewers, there could be no resistance groups. This underground maze of tunnels and chambers was almost a city unto itself. There were groundwater reserves to drink and grow food with and the glow-bulbs gave their crops some sun to grow with. In some parts of the sewer, including this one, there were even underground hab-quarters for long-dead maintenance workers who once prowled this underground world.

Osprey was the first one back. He found the secret door upon the tunnel wall and knocked on it. The wall shifted open as improvised gears yawned it apart. What looked like a solid wall was actually a few centimeters of brick that concealed the opening to the familiar cave that served as the first line of defense for the Water Dogs and their hideout.

Osprey stood in front of three heavybolter nests and a wall of sandbags. Walking in, he stepped over the sandbags and came up on the holes in the wall that led to the Water Dog's armoury, barracks, living quarters, mess hall and the tunnel that led to the hab units.

"How'd it go?" shouted Yueka, a snappy blonde. She was needlessly rude, perhaps thinking it might make her as tough or tougher than her male counterparts.

"Got him," Osprey replied to her and the six other Water Dogs who watched the sandbag line. There was no cheering, no celebration and no happiness. Osprey walked past them, heading towards the tunnel to the hab units. When he entered the hole, the unworked rock walls were abruptly replaced by beautifully smooth surfaces of rockrete. The rounded walls grew square and the dim glow-bulb's orange light became white and sharp from high-quality light strips. He walked down the narrow rockrete hall, passing closed doors.

One open gate he passed led into their groundwater supply. Through it, he could see a rockrete-walled cavern, with a small underground pond nestled against the far wall. A few young women were washing clothes in metal basins by it. A moment later, Osprey passed by an open door that led into Kyjenman's room. He could see the man, always dressed in his flak vest, sitting on the floor and playing with his three young children. The oldest, a girl of four, was offering her father a straw doll. Osprey would have stopped to say hello, but he had other things to do.

"Anyone die?" asked Angelwing as he passed Osprey in the hall. When the temple that Angelwing had been a devoted member of was burned down by orks, he took it upon himself to exact a slow and terrible revenge on the orks. He was the closest thing the Water Dogs had to a priest.

"Don't know. And how many times do I have to ask you to stop asking me?" asked Osprey. Angelwing gave him his characteristic stupid look.

"Why couldn't I go?" Angelwing asked.

'Because your marksmanship sucks,' Osprey thought. "Because we need you here," he said aloud. He hurried past the inferior fighter and came to the end of the last smooth rockrete corridor. Osprey looked at the door that had his name scratched into it in spray-paint and pushed it open. He closed it carefully and turned inward. His personal quarters were small and simple. Let the men with big families keep the large rooms, Osprey only had himself and the occasional guest to occupy this small place that had little room for more than a desk, a footlocker and two bunks.

"What do you want?" Osprey asked as he sat down on his bunk. On the bunk opposite him, sat Mhal, still in his stormtrooper garb. One of his squad mates stood at the back of the room, masked, with his gun up. "I don't like getting calls from home when I'm out killing."

"I'm sorry I had to contact you in the middle of a mission, but it was important and so it could not wait," Mhal replied. "I have a number of new recruits to bring. They have special skills that you could definitely use next time out." That knowing look in Mhal's eye.

"Skullkicker?" asked Osprey. "I'm need a lot of men if I wanted to knock out Skullkicker. It took three lucky shots to kill the engineer we killed today, and he's probably what? One fifth the size of those big breeds?"

"Skullkicker is the head of this invasion. I don't understand your illogical lack of initiative or motivation. That ork may knock the whole invasion into disarray." Mhal was a full fifteen years younger than Osprey, still somewhat boy-faced and tamely handsome. Osprey, on the other hand, was hairy, bigger and looked much older than he was. His experience had molded him into a natural warrior-thug. By the laws of nature, it should have been Osprey giving the demands in this room, but Mhal had an unspoken authority here, which did not come from his uniform. "You should go after Skullkicker. You may not get the chance."

"Maybe," Osprey conceded. "Maybe, if the opportunity presents itself. Fine. Now, what's this about new recruits?" Mhal told the story.

"No," Osprey said at the end of it. "I can't take in two companies of Imperial Guard. I don't have enough food for them…"

"On the contrary," snapped Mhal, "you have all the food you need. They can be fed well and still not burn into your emergency rations. No, you can take them and I order you to do so. Their fighting skills are of the highest quality, with the regulars at least. The PDF are not as adequate. You will have much help from their skills."

"Their commander will come looking for them…"

"Their commander will think they have all died." Osprey frowned.

"If this is just an enticement to attack Skullkicker when the time comes…why don't you just tell me what you're really up to?" he looked at the other stormtrooper, then back at Mhal, who was as cold as a stone. However, Osprey's stare made him crack.

"If you prefer to keep your mind out of business where it does not belong, just tell your men they are here to help when the time comes to ambush Skullkicker. But if my men or I need them, send them to me."

"This doesn't involve your problems with the other resistance groups, does it? Like I said before, other groups are just getting violent towards other humans because of problems with starvation," snapped Osprey almost at once. He got only a cold stare. He suddenly felt very small, knowing he was not only confronting Mhal, but the whole of his masked squad. "Forget it. Thank you for hijacking a whole company for my use," he huffed sarcastically. He stood up. "So, where the hell are they?"

…

"How long do you think we'll be here?" whispered Tigerson to Cav as he sat at the table with the rest of the 89th. The PDF sat apart from the 112th, who were huddled closely around the other table in this great underground hall. Lystartro was whispering orders to his men. The only adult with the 89th was Kins, who stood over them like a shepherd.

"Hush," Cav whispered back. He looked uneasily at the stormtroopers who guarded them. They stood at attention by the only door out of the room, guns held across their chests. They didn't speak, not even to each other and were as still as paintings. Was this what it was like to be assigned to a new theatre of war by special orders? It felt more like prison.

When the door opened, Lystartro was the only man who jumped to his feet. He and Kins approached the door as Mhal and a middle-aged man in a weathered Arbites uniform strode through. Lystartro beckoned to Cav, who saluted and stood up. He appeared by their sides just as Lystartro finished introducing them.

"Osprey Shahaugh," the newcomer said. "I have no formal rank, but I run the Water Dogs. So that could make me a colonel."

"What is your rank in the Arbites?" asked Kins.

"I took this off a dead man…"

"Then it is not yours," Kins blunted his tone. "I assume there is something important you need from us, Shahaugh."

"Osprey, please," replied the man. "There…" he looked oddly at Mhal. "In a few days, I was thinking of going after the ork warlord Skullkicker, who is visiting Urbanis 1. I need your help with his assassination. My men are hard, but you have the proper training."

"Very well," Lystartro seemed remarkably accepting. "Do you have connections with command in Urbanis 5?"

"No."

"Then how will my colonel…"

"There are countless thousands of men with the defenders," Mhal replied. "Your handful will not be missed." He looked at Kins. "Commissar Kins, is there an issue you have that you would like to talk about?" Kins nodded at Mhal's helmet.

"The 5178th Company. I had friends who served with a number of you during the uprising," Kins said stiffly. Mhal nodded slowly and knowingly.

"No one in my squad spent more than a few hours in service during the war with Halivor," Mhal answered. Cav looked at Kins. He knew that look: it was the look Kins often gave him. It was hate and suspicion kept under restraint.

"Not a lot of you walked away from that war, as I recall," Kins said carefully, as though to avoid offense.

"Is there something you'd like to tell the sergeant, commissar?" asked Lystartro. Kins shrugged, as if unsure, but then shook his head.

"No, not at all."

The last thing Cav noticed before Mhal went was the sergeant's eyes. They fluttered idly to Cav's tattoo and shifted in either surprise or fear. When Cav looked closer, Mhal's eyes were looking back at Lystartro.

"You two may sort out command structure. I am needed elsewhere," Mhal snapped his fingers and his squad followed him out. Cav ignored them, focusing on Osprey and Lystartro. Soon, Mhal was all but forgotten.

…

"I didn't think there were hill tribesmen in the PDF or the guard," Mhal whispered to his squad.

"A few of them, not doubt," replied the trooper beside him from behind his mask as they stalked out of Water Dog territory and into the vast complexity of the underground maze.

"Do you think we made a mistake? Do you think he is them?" Mhal asked.

"No Mhal, not all hill tribesmen are Halivorians. Just as not all humans are Imperials," answered the trooper. "It is an unimportant cultural bauble one of the PDF happens to have."


	6. The Missing Squad

_Diary_

_It is the end of the first day with these so-called Water Dogs and I am surprised at how big they are. First of all, they are one group of many that live in these sewers, working together to spring ambushes and the like on the orks. The Water Dogs consist of not only Osprey's one hundred fighters, but another hundred and fifty or so of their families who live with them. They got their name from the flooded tunnel they have to trek through and their groundwater supply. _

_The 89__th__ and I were shown around by a talkative man named Angelwing. He must be one of those priest-caste types by his name. He talks a lot about the Emperor and Erson and spiritual stuff. The 89__th__ is going to be spread out amongst Osprey's fighters. I am told my authority over them will now be reduced to keeping a headcount. Hah! And I was supposed to lead them. _

_For now, my boys and me are working menial chores around their lair. This is a blessing, there's a lot of young women with no husbands with the Water Dogs. _

_The Water Dogs are sending a mission up to the surface. Apparently half the guys they sent up on their last mission are overdue. Lystartro and two squads of the 112__th__ are going with them._

Cav closed his diary before Angelwing could look at it. He somehow didn't feel comfortable with having this pasty stranger reading his words. Cav's fingers were still wrinkled from all that washing he did but while the rest of the 89th ate their evening meal, Cav found he was neither hungry nor talkative.

"So you're a hill clan?" asked Angelwing, "a blessed defender?"

"Yes," Cav replied. "Joined to kill orks." He thought proudly of the ones he had slain. "Am I the only one around here?"

"Hill clan members are rare out here. Most of them are with the Temple Guards. They're another resistance group near the holy mountain. Don't see them much," Angelwing replied. He had a certain slur in his voice that made Cav give a low estimation of his intelligence.

"So there are people with the hill clans out here?" asked Cav, hopeful one of them might be family. "Well, if there's any others who stop by, tell them to steer away from Kins, the commissar."

…

Rockrete and plasteel, rockrete and plasteel. Everywhere Lystartro rested his dirty eyes, he saw rockrete and plasteel, lying, discarded in ugly heaping piles of monstrous ruins that only vaguely resembled the city it had once been. If he looked hard, he could see streets, roadways and familiar types of building under that veil of urban desecration. These dirty fighters were like the man version of these wrecked places. But unlike the city, they carried within them a warrior's spirit that Lystartro admired, despite their humble appearance. They were so weak, but fighting for this urban moonscape.

Lystartro and his command squad crouched down with Osprey's squad of Water Dogs. Short-range vox-links were kept so their sweep could be plausible. Amongst this hell of urban waste, these low-quality vox sets were unreliable, but they got the job done, more or less.

"They should be here," Osprey said at last, when they arrived at a nondescript plaza. Lystartro looked around at the ruins, which formed a clean square around what looked to have once been a nice looking city square. Perhaps, in ages past, lovers came here to take a break from the grind of daily life? Now, it was a dusty ruin of…of…

Yet more rockrete and steel.

"Alright, we should search this place high and low for my men. They know to come here if they get cut off. If they're not here, they might have not made it back," Osprey whispered, directing his men with hand gestures. Orders were sent through. In the ruin around them, squads of Water Dogs moved in to search the ruins for their missing comrades.

"They might be dead," Lystartro replied. It was his men's job to cover the Water Dogs. They knew the city and this odd city square refuge point and could search it most reliably. "Can't you let go? This is the greenskin's backyard." Osprey looked fiercely at him.

"No, this is Urbanis 1, my home," he replied. "If there's a chance my men got away from that fight and are hiding out here, I'll take it." Lystartro passed his orders around to his other squads out there in the ruins. They were to go in quick and light, eyes up and guns raised, but obey the Water Dogs. "Just watch and learn," he said to each of his sergeants. He was loathe to give that last order. He hoped he would make up for it by having a unit that fought better than Osprey's.

So ten 112th Guardsmen and ten Water Dogs ducked through the dusty hallways of the ruins around the great square. Here and there, Lystartro spotted some fresh, clean-looking item lying amid the ruin. A pile of kitchenware here, a shiny wrench over there. As they make their way through a long room with a high ceiling, he spotted a flawless wooden chair against the wall, waiting patiently for a user the way it did before the war.

"Sir…" clicked Osprey's vox-set. Osprey gave the signal to halt and lifted the little device to his ear. Lystartro smiled at the crude contraption. Osprey was forced to use it and still he fought on instead of lying down. Another tribute to the legendary stupidity of man.

"Movement to the north, by the warehouses," Osprey recited. Lystartro sent the news to his other squads. The whole expedition held its position and waited. "Damn it, orks," Osprey sighed in exhaustion. He lowered his set and let it hang from his back. "We might have to do some shooting."

"Great. I hate all this damn silence," Lystartro huffed back. A dirty-faced young woman stuck out her tongue at him.

"You thick army boys are such meatheads. No, we can't get into a shoot with the greens," she blurted. Lystartro considered punching her, but knew he shouldn't. It wasn't because she was a woman: Rynn's World taught him that women needed no special protection from violence. It was because of Osprey. He couldn't afford tension between them.

"She is a little right, you know? The orks will be drawn to shooting. I want to see what's for dinner tonight and I don't want my chance ruined when half the city gets dumped on us," Lystartro said to Osprey.

"I'm ordering a…" his vox-set burst to life. He raised it to his ear. This time, Lystartro heard nothing from it, though Osprey seemed to be listening to someone. "It's them, they've been found. They're all dead," Osprey sighed faintly. "Emperor damn…" he lowered his set. "Lystartro, pull your men back and Yueka here can take you back to the kennel." The woman with the sharp tongue crossed her arms and looked at Lystartro as if to say "you belong to me." He didn't have to ask Osprey where he was going.

"If it's so damned important that you see their dead bodies then I'm hauling myself over there too," Lystartro answered. "I think it'll help stick the two of us together more. Sentimental nonsense, you know?" Osprey gave a ghostly grin and looked at Yueka.

"Lead the rest of the offworlders to the kennel. I'm borrowing their captain for a sec," he said.

A moment later, the order was given to pull back while Lystartro, Osprey and eight other Water Dogs went to behold the fate of the lost squad.

…

_During the liberation of Rynn's World, Lystartro helped retake many small settlements overrun by orks during the first wave of the invasion. He'd been younger then, but no less hard. Scenes of sad, pillages homesteads became a daily experience for him as they drove the greenskin horde back into the mountains. Some were burned to nothing and some were untouched ghost towns, still stocked with the personal affects that the orks had not touched. Lystartro remembered seeing picts of families in abandoned houses, sometimes with cradles, children's toys and piles of clothes in drawers. These settlements were always barren of their original inhabitants. They could instead be found underneath it, in the waste pits the orks dug. _

_Lystartro had helped unearth a dozen of these mass graves. They were filled with the bones of thousands of villagers who had fallen prey to orkish appetites. Remembering the faces from those picts, both Lystartro's nightmares and imagination were tortured with violent visions of how he imagined those families turned from productive citizens into piles of bones. He asked himself unanswerable questions such as how much they had suffered, how long the orks had kept them alive, or if they were afraid. He felt sympathy for them, but he never showed it. He kept such feelings on the inside, lest they hinder his duties. _

_Imperial propaganda loved to show orks off as being comically crude, illogical hooligans with poor verbal skills (Lystartro didn't believe reports of orks speaking low gothic) and silly accents. Unfortunately, this meant too many of the men he sometimes met in his campaigns thought the orks were funny or delightfully primitive parodies of human culture. If there was some joke to what the greenskins did to people, Lystartro wasn't laughing. _

He thought of heaping skulls out of waste pits and sorting through piles of ashes looking for signs of human remains as he looked over the bombed-out room. He thought of staring, mummified faces mounted as trophies on orkish vehicles and banners.

"Orks didn't do this," were the first words Lystartro spoke. They were the first words anyone spoke. Osprey nodded.

"Starving, desperate bandits," he muttered.

The men in the missing squad lay dead in a row, hands tied neatly behind their backs, eyes blindfolded. They hadn't been mutilated, but their weapons and ammunition were all missing. They had been shot in the head, execution style while they lay on the ground.

"They might still be around," one man from the two Water Dog squads warned. There were twenty-one men present and that gave Lystartro some confidence that they were indeed not.

"What are you doing?" asked Lystartro as Osprey and six of his men walked around each of the bodies.

"We are giving them our thanks for their service," Osprey whispered, making the aquilla sign to them. "Their duty is done." Lystartro knew how dangerous useless gestures like this could potentially be in the field. They needed time. Orks were coming.

"Move it on, we must hurry," Lystartro said. A few of the other Water Dogs, thankfully, agreed. Unfortunately, Osprey looked reluctant.

"This is a duty…" he began.

"The good captain is right in his assessment."

Lystartro jumped at the voice. He turned to see Mhal walking out of the shadows like a cat. He was here too? Why didn't Mhal tell them? Typical gloryboy behavior, trying to ignore protocol, thinking independence from the command chain will get them a shot at heroics.

"What in the name of the great Golden Throne are you out here for sergeant?" demanded Lystartro. "And where are your men?"

"They are punishing the greenskins. I came here to inspect these men," Mhal replied. He pushed through the Water Dogs and reached the corpses. He drew his sword just as Osprey finished walking around the last one. With the tip of his blade, he nudged aside a dead man's torn shirt.

"That's really something," Lystartro said to himself.

The man's back was a mess of thin scratch marks and burns: the signs of torture. These men had been interrogated before they were killed. A few of the Water Dogs cursed in anger, swearing impossible vengeance.

"Bandits don't torture, they just rob…" Lystartro looked up at Osprey. "Is this new?" Osprey looked at Lystartro, then slightly looked at Mhal.

"There's some crazy bandits around here," he replied. Listening to his reply was like tasting poison in his food. Something was definitely amiss. Lystartro looked to Mhal Dannit and felt sure he was looking at the true leader of the Water Dogs.

"Why abandon your men, sergeant?" asked Lystartro.

"Don't question my methods, captain."

"That's sir…"

"Look around you!" Mhal swung his arms to the walls. "This is not an imperial headquarters or a parade ground. This is a remote wilderness of warfare. Polished Imperial Guard formalities do not hold weight out here where there are no courts nor firing squads." The men around him gave no support to the captain. All the Water Dogs seemed to silently agree with the strange gloryboy sergeant.

"Empeor curse the bloody colonel for hitching me up with…" Lystartro snorted under his breath. He was about to ask if they could return to the Water Dog's lair when artillery shook the air.

"We've waited too damned long," one man cried.

"Let's go!"

"Alright," Osprey cried, "come dogs, back to the kennel and some chow." He took the fighters one way while Mhal ran the other way: north. Lystartro followed Osprey and privately hoped Mhal would be killed fighting the orks. Of course, given the old captain's luck, the sergeant would likely come back unhurt.


	7. A Day with First Company

Through the ruins they came, across narrow streets and over tumbled heaps of destroyed building. Amongst the tide of greenskins lumbered a number of crab-legged walkers, accustomed to climbing up and over the ridges of destruction that were so common in Urbanis 1. Atop these ramshackle crawlers were oversized cannon or mortars, tended to by teams of gretchen. Grotesque firearms and rusted blades studded the massed green brigades, until their ranks bristled with hedges of rusted weaponry.

The orks were stupid by his standards, but Mhal knew not to underestimate them. Even now, they fired their walking cannons at the square, trying to flush out the humans they thought were there. The sound of fighting must have drawn them, probably the fight that claimed the lives of Osprey's missing squad. They were presently trundling back to the sewers to hide, keeping careful not to cut themselves on the way back. The ruins, after all, could hide orks anywhere where there were shadows.

Mhal and his friends did not fear the shadows: they were the shadows. They could move from one end of Urbanis 1 to the other without making a noise. Their matchless stealth could take them anywhere as though the orks were not even around. To him, as he looked through a shattered window on a hab unit near the square, it didn't look like these orks needed his wrath.

Some dust fell from the ceiling as a shell exploded nearby. Mhal heard the distant rattle of several ork mortars bellowing their iron fury.

These fiends were stumbling after the urban ghosts they had only smelled on the wind and would not catch them, providing Osprey was fast enough. Mhal very nearly advised his squad to melt away and return to the Water Dogs.

Then, there was a phosphorous flash amongst the orkish ranks. Mhal couldn't see the whole sum of the ork force, but he could see a dozen machines and a hundred warriors none-the-less. Every one of those orks was suddenly running amok, firing their weapons at nothing and searching their surroundings furiously. Imperial weapons were gunning them down from a number of different directions at once. Mhal caught a glimpse of a rocket zip from a window and into an orkish machine, turning the clanking monstrosity into a burning spider.

At the same time, a pair of Imperial Guardsmen burst into the room. They didn't acknowledge Mhal as they fired burst out the windows upon the startled orks.

"You're 112th," Mhal exclaimed, recognizing their uniforms. He ducked away from the window as the ledge burst into clouds of violent dust. Heavy ork bullets raked the back of the room. One man ducked back and the other toppled, squirting blood.

"You've seen 112th? " the other guardsman shouted. "We're looking for them. My capitan should see you."

"Who? Captain Lystartro?" Mhal asked.

"No sergeant. Captain Arcantillius. I'm with a different company."

"Yes, of course. Yes trooper, I have seen those men who your captain is searching for. However, you were not sent here to find them." Mhal fled the hab, taking the guardsman with him. He ducked through the urban jungle, away from the fighting. "You and your company have a greater purpose. Gather them together and bring them out of this fight." The soldier looked at him sideways.

"Look gloryboy, I aint' no damned officer. I don't got that kind of authority to bring the whole troop together. My squad is this way." The trooper looked around. "And where the hell is yours?"

"Right here."

Eight stormtroopers glided out of the shadows, masked and unspeaking, guns ready. The trooper's eyes were wide like a child's, even though he was a veteran, if scars were any indication.

"How did they…"

"We're…what's it?" Mhal allowed his thin lips a wicked smile. "Gloryboys. And we are for a reason. Cause we're the best." The rest of his squad stood as quiet as death, not even speaking to their sergeant or acknowledging his praise of them. They just stood as they were supposed to, ready. "Find your squad for us."

…

"Oh, this is a load of crap!" Curth could endure being sent down to Urbanis 1, for a short mission with almost no notice. He could endure being nervous about every shadow and rock as he and his friends in the 112th and 89th combed the ruins for signs of Lystartro and Cav's two crews. But he couldn't endure being holed up in a bombed-out cathedral holding his ground against waves of greenskins with a lasgun and a dwindling supply of power packs.

Yet somehow, he was enduring it. He was living the dream, the ultimate scenario that all guardsmen and PDFer's aspired to: he was fighting a battle that could truly be called heroic, whether or not he lived or died. This was why he signed up, this defense was why he joined…or rather…was forced into the PDF. This was what it meant to be a soldier to the Emperor.

Well, let someone else have his slice of the heroics. He'd take latrine duty over this any day.

The greater whole of the First Company and Curth's assigned PDF unit had taken cover inside the ruined cathedral, which still miraculously stood, no doubt protected from the evil shells of the siege by the Emperor. Arcantillius had ordered their weapons teams to assemble by the few windows there were and spray the orks with all they had. The rest of them were to hold the door. One door, wooden and as beautiful as the orks outside were ugly, was all they had to hold. It looked so simple, but Curth knew how many orks were coming.

They were trying to leave the ork horde behind after noticing them, when a jumpy PDF boy with his grenade tried to be a hero. Well, now they were all dead. One grenade toss and a sneaky retreat became a horrible last stand. It hadn't even been a fragmentation grenade. The idiot had thrown a stun grenade.

"We shall not fall back! There is nowhere to go!" Captain Arcantillius said proudly, his thunder-voice loud over the chugging fire of the weapons teams and their heavy bolters. Why was he so freaking proud? They were all going to die! Did Arcantillius not care? Did he not have some fear? How could he be so calm? Were all Imperial Guard officers this stupid?

"Present!" shrieked a shrill lieutenant. Disciplined firing lines were assembled, bayonets fixed. Arcantillius, as proud as a peacock, strutted behind them, weapon pointed upwards.

"There is no greater glory than to die in His name!" he boomed like a priest. "Die in his name!"

"Sir!" one of the weapons teams cried before an explosion obliterated them and their window. A thin film of grey dust billowed through the cathedral, just in time to make Curth's eyes water as the door was thrown open. Curth winced in fear, remembering he was in the front rank. He bit his lip and calmed his thoughts. Now he wanted to be as blindly brave as Arcantillius.

The orks piled in, tearing through the lasbolts that greeted them. They didn't have far to run to reach the humans and the Imperials were determined to make it the longest thirty meters an ork had ever gone down. Curth couldn't hear the aliens distinctly over the massed lasguns, He could see the orks boiling in, stumbling and dying. They usually survived a few seconds where a human would die in only one. Scavenged armour painted with faded black and white checker patterns, thick slabs of rusty iron, leather coats, studded leather and mixtures of all those were not enough to save them for long. They would just come in, pop and bleed and shudder under lasguns, spilling out brackish blood across the dusty floor, before dropping into a clumsy heap to the ground. Curth saw a pair of yellow ork eyes burst like bubbles. He saw one catch fire. But they still came, and they still took shots with their crude, boxy machine guns if they had time. Across the line, men, mostly 89th, were getting hit.

"They'll block the door," Curth told himself, thinking back to basic training, thinking about how his sergeant yelled at him, telling him to "remember his training" to live. No! Training could not save him here! Only a lot of dead aliens could. As 89th boys lay bleeding and crying around him, Curth thought back to all the stupid, wasteful things he had done prior to today. Why had he been so mean to Stolce? Why did he get so excited at the idea of joining the PDF?

As more orks poured in, the weapon teams on the left wall abandoned their posts, and were massacred in a storm of ork bullets that threw up storms of dust when they impacted against the wall, so Curth could not see their victims fall all too clearly. The cause of their fear soon revealed itself, or rather, smashed in through the left wall.

It was a mad parody of a cargo truck, which had some battle tank in its genes. Its front was mounted with, what was quite literally, a huge metal rolling pin. A hatch opened on its side and orks dribbled forth, all gnashing fangs and rusted weapons. From the hole in the wall, more orks bled forth.

"For the Emperor!" Arcantillius' brass voice shouted over the din as the orks came forward from both holes. Curth could see the feral look in their alien faces, burning, blazing, with the glee of violence. They looked like bullies pouncing on their prey. Curth had been like them once: a large, violence-hungry fool preying on smaller people.

Ork bullets killed more people. Curth could do nothing except sit and hope none chose him. He gripped his lasgun and prepared to die. His last shot fired and is lasgun reported its emptiness. No longer were the orks being held up at the door, now they were pressing forward like a tsunami of piggish forms. They reached the Imperials.

Curth stepped forward to fight. He surprised himself even as he did. He wasn't a brave fighter, or even a true guardsman. He was a teenage conscript. He was supposed to be a coward, a 0th shotstopper.

Around him, he heard his friends screaming and dying while the orks ran them over. They stood literally no chance against the greenskins. Before he could reconcile this face, he was bashed in the face by an alien fist. He fell onto his back and shuffled away from the alien stampede. To where? Where could he go that was safe? Orks rushed over him to attack the guardsmen behind him, ignoring him for the time.

Through the trashing melee, Curth spotted Assache, who he and Cav had once picked on for being too weak. Assache's face was distorted by terror as an ork was lifting him up to his feet, prying Assache's arms from his head with one hand to expose his neck. The other hand was hefting a rusty knife. Assache's weak arms couldn't save him. Curth didn't even need to see the skull-studded stake mounted on the ork's back to guess his intentions.

"_That's not something the propaganda guys made up, they actually do that. I've seen it. And if you're lucky, you'll see it too. If you're unlucky…well…we'll all know who you are soon enough." _

Curth didn't move as a pair of oily hands lifted him to his feet. Hot, sour breath moistened the back of his neck. He heard the last gun go silent, then his ears filled with guttural roars of alien triumph. The last human was either dead or subdued. The orks had won. Frozen and helpless, the ork manhandled Curth to the center of a circle of orks, where several handfuls of disarmed 112th guardsmen and three PDF boys stood. Arcantillisu was with them, covered in ork blood, and looking as proud as a figurehead. The orks had them surrounded, their yellow eyes contemplating their captives with hunger. Curth thought back to his days as a school bully. How ironic for him to be here. In the crowd of dirty green and metal, he spotted Assache, staring sadly at him with expressionless eyes from atop a wooden stake. He saw the blades the orks had, he saw ample room on them for more trophies. In them, he saw his fate.

The aliens parted as a huge shadow lumbered forward, clearing a path for their gigantic leader. Curth's eyes widened at the dark-green daemon, with its yellow eyes and dagger tusks. Its muscles were tattooed with orkish runes that suggested a beast's horned head. It's shoulder pads were painted with a checker pattern of black and white. The helmet its ugly skull wore was horned.

"So, humies," the creature said. It was an extremely deep voice with an alien accent, but the words were disturbingly clear. "You's think you's can handle da orks? I's is giving you one chance or you's is wormfood." He snapped the shears he had on his hands to bring his point home. "Where's is da way into da big hill thing?" No one spoke. Curth closed his eyes and thought about something else, or tried to. What, by Erson, was he talking about? Angel's Peak? "I's is one of da warboss' Skullkicka's biggest nobs!" the ork's voice was like a bell. "And I's is gunna hear what's I wants to know or you's is gonna get stomped good an flat!"

"Kill us now, we're not telling you a thing! Come on! Kill me!" spat Arcantillius, with the pride of an Astartes, the arrogance of commissar and the stupidity of…something that was REALLY stupid. Curth protected his neck and thought of all the places he'd rather be.

Then, he was plugging his ears, briefly deafened by a loud noise. The truck had exploded.

Dust was covering everything. He heard orks yell in alarm and their guns began to fire. Through the curtain of dust that covered everything, he saw the shapes of orks get sliced down. Reinforcements had come. That was all Curth saw before he was bowled to the ground by a charging ork.

…

Arcantillius raised the lasgun he'd found and scanned the silent cathedral as the dust cleared. He counted eleven surviving humans and many dead orks and not a single live one. Even the great horned one had been shot dead, straight through the head.

"Wha…What?" It took a lot to impress Arcantillius, who had been brought up amongst the nobility of his native hive. There must have been eighty orks surrounding them, but not a single one remained. How could anyone kill so quickly? He blinked in disbelief at the tiny squad of stormtroopers who stalked out of the dust, a burning truck behind them. They were supported by the missing elements from Arcantillius' company, but still…

"Mhal Dannit, and I understand you're on a rescue mission," the sergeant was the only stormtrooper with a bare face. "I have your missing company, but it is not your job to rescue them. Your mission briefing was a cover for your real mission."

"You meant to say, sergeant…" Arcantillius' tone was shaken, but still regal, "that Lystartro is with you?"

"He is well. He too was given to me by special authority."

...

_Clan Angelspear lived across a chain of hills that rose like a wall before the great Warstream. Longhouses covered every hilltop and wooden watchtowers gave their sentries a commanding view of the surrounding farmland, where the women and sons of the men tended to the harvest and the herd. _

_The men, most of them, learned a trade or learned to hunt. Few went away to the cities and even fewer joined the Imperial Guard. Most remained behind in the local militia, who watched the horizon for criminal raiders from the cities the hill clan lived in the backyard of. _

_Cavenners, the third son of Wishaav and Bjaelan, trundled obediently after his mother, hauling an armload of firewood up the dirt path towards his homestead. He stepped aside to avoid a cart and its horse. He nodded to the driver: Samoth, the old storyteller, who carried his hearthguard broadsword across his lap. _

_In a second, his life had changed forever. _

_Suddenly, there were cityfolk, rushing into Angelspear territory in trucks and high-tech fliers. Getting everyone together to hear the news. Before the crowd of hill clansmen, that uniformed city-man, telling everyone orks had invaded Ersonia. After they left, Mhavenners stood before the crowd and rallied his people._

"_Angelspear!" the great man roared as his bodyguards flanked him, "Erson calls us!" His speech that followed was full of encouragement and statements of how it was their duty as ancient defenders of Ersonia to fight in the planet's defense. He even encouraged those unfamiliar with the city to join in. Cavenners had been to a city, to go to an academy with all the other city boys. There, he had earned the nickname "Cav." It was a terrible insult to his honour to be called by a mockery of his true name, but he couldn't tell five hundred city boys to stop. _

_Half the young men in the clan departed for war the next day. Cavenners wished to join but was too young. Two years later, when he was in the academy back in Erson City, all the boys older than sixteen were led into the audience hall for a "special presentation". The schoolmasters locked the doors, leaving them alone with those armed men. One door was opened and they were herded like cattle into the PDF trucks. Cavenners, now even he called himself Cav, didn't even get to say goodbye to anyone back home. _

Cav opened his eyes from the nightmare he'd been having. It had basically been a reenactment of the day when the PDF snatched him up for basic training, except the men with guns had all been replicas of Commissar Kins. Well, there were many other minor differences, but the simple facts were all there: fear, confusion and the sudden wish that he wasn't ready for battle. Of course, basic had eventually changed that, but now as he lay in the black bunkroom beneath ork infested territory, he thought it was foolish he'd ever wanted to go off and fight.

He sat up and wiped his eyes, quickly noticing there was a line of light at the end of the room. The lights were on outside. He heard someone speaking and a pair of feet walk past the door. Was it time to get up? Had he overslept? Cav hopped up and opened the door.

Outside, in the rockcrete hall, he saw two of Mhal's stormtroopers talking with one another, pointing to the different doors on the wall. They stopped before one and opened it. Five 112th Guardsmen that Cav hadn't seen before came up behind them and walked through. They closed the door and one of the stormtroopers left, disappearing down the hall.

"What's going on?" Cav asked, with a salute to the tall stormtrooper, who stood by the door, gun across his chest. "Why carrying that thing around?" Cav hadn't met a soldier who carried his gun on him at all times, always. "Something wrong? The greenskins, or something?" The stormtrooper said nothing. "Hey!" Cav snapped his fingers in front of the man's masked face. "Speak up."

The man said something to him, indistinguishable through the speakers in his helmet.

"I can hear you. You think you could get rid of that mask thing?" Actually, Cav hadn't seen any of them except Dannit take off his mask. The stormtrooper said the same thing, even less distinct.

"Don't bother my men."

Cav snapped around as Mhal came up behind him. Wow, he had been quiet, even in that big suit.

"Kind of shy, aren't they, sergeant?" Cav asked, trying to look relaxed. "So why are they up right now. And you too. Why are you all up? I think it's night." It was a nightmare to tell night from day down here with the Water Dogs. It was like a crypt.

"They don't take orders from anyone else," Mhal said.

"Oh, you wait till Kins starts…" Cav turned his head to the stormtrooper, intending to crack a joke, but saw the man was gone. "So what are you doing up? And please be there when I turn around." Cav looked back at Mhal, who had not vanished. The sergeant gave a small laugh.

"You're not a big sleeper, are you? Come with me, let's have a drink." Cav followed Mhal down towards the mess hall. "The First Company of the 112th is here. They too were sent to aid the Water Dogs."

"Ah, a whole new company. You don't suppose you could bag us a few Astartes chapters, could you?" Cav asked.

"Beyond me, sorry."

"How are you and your men so quiet? It's like…" Cav didn't need to tell Mhal what their stealth was like. Mhal shrugged.

"Lower ranks of the Imperial Guard are always complaining about our favour within the highest ranks of generals. But we earn it."

"I'm PDF, not Guard."

"I never said you were." Mhal pushed open the door to the mess hall and took him inside the long room. They sat down. Seconds later, a stormtrooper came in, a cup of water in each hand. Mhal didn't thank him and the stormtrooper left, leaving both cups in front of the two. "As I said before, I brought in some more aid to help us find and destroy my target."

"Skullkicker, I believe," Cav looked down into his cup. He drew all the encouragement he could from being so close to such a skilled soldier as Mhal, but still could not shed the fear of facing an ork leader. "Emperor help us all." He took a sip. There was a slight metallic tang to the water. Like the taste of blood, his blood. "Did you find the lost Water Dogs?" He wanted badly to talk about something else.

"Murdered by the enemy," replied Mhal casually through a sip. "I want to see your tattoo." Cav hesitated at the strange request.

"Why?" Cav set his cup down but didn't pull up his sleeve. Mhal set his cup down and sat back in his chair. He folded his fingers and cleared his throat.

"Under the banner of blue I stand with you," he sang, with a surprisingly good voice. "We all stand, hand in hand, through and through. Far and wide our voices sing. United as one our voices ring. And through all that which we endeavor…" he looked at Cav, who was at first a little surprised. Cav realized what Mhal wanted him to do and continued the song.

"…We stay brothers in battle forever," Cav continued. "And those foes that our hearthguard meet, will fall down beneath their marching feet."

"Under the banner of blue, we all stand true," they both sang in unison. "We are the angel's spear, through and through. Long and far our eyes do see. Long and far our protection be." Cav stopped abruptly, and Mhal stopped as soon as Cav did. Wow, how long had it been since he had heard that tune? To hear it here was like having a candle of light in the middle of a dark, predator-filled forest.

"Where'd you pick up that song?" Cav asked. "You're…you're not an Angelspear clansman too, I mean…" He shrugged. "You must have at least been there."

"I visited Angelspear, once, long time ago," Mhal replied. "Can I see your tattoo?" Cav lifted his sleeve, happy to oblige now. Mhal nodded. "Angelspear. Quite a few of you went off to join Halivor." Cav felt his heart sting a little. More than quite a few of the clan left to join that rebel. Most of Halivor's elite hearthguard regiments were composed entirely of Angelspears.

"You really have to bring that up?" Cav asked.

"You didn't join too, did you?"

"Come on man, I was a fifteen when it happened…"

"But you weren't too young to follow his ideals. His misguided beliefs. His heretical dogma." Now it made sense.

"So that's where you learned that song. You fought in against Halivor too?" Mhal didn't answer, which was all the answer that Cav needed to make up his mind.

"The squad Osprey lost in the ruins was murdered. Don't go around telling people, I don't want there to be a panic, but I think they were murdered by Halivorians." The air grew thick and Cav's chest fluttered a bit. Orks were one thing, but rebels had a certain quality to them that made them frightful in a different way than the inhuman orks. "With the invasion of Ersonia, I think some survivors of Halivor's forces might be taking the opportunity to usurp Imperial control, just as they tried to during the uprising. Halivor promised them power, money, influence. Even without him, the spark he ignited could be burning."

"Why do you gotta jump to the biggest answer first? I heard there's bandits out there," Cav offered. "How come it couldn't have been them?" Mhal didn't answer at first. Either he was in a logical checkmate or he was considering telling Cav something difficult. It was hard to read this enigmatic man. Cav could only look into his deep, staring eyes and wonder.

"I have a bad feeling, we shall say that," replied Mhal. "I do know for a fact that there are other resistance groups out there that are savage and violent even towards other humans. My..." he sighed, "Gloryboy training tells me they are more than mere bandits." Mhal took another drink.

"How come you're telling me if you don't want a panic. Why not just tell…tell nobody at all?" Cav asked. He tapped his shoulder. "Is it cause of this?"

"It's because you might recognize the signs better than I do. Plenty of people around you joined Halivor," Mhal intelligently replied. Cav didn't feel comfortable in here anymore. His eyes were growing floppy with fatigue and he yawned. He sucked back the rest of his water and stood up.

"No one I knew joined. My family fled to the city when the rebellion happened," Cav said with all the truth he could manage. Only the second part of his words were true. He turned to go.

"No. Your uncle followed Halivor. Your father Wishaav was also a rebel and so were a lot of your friends. Should I name them?"

Cav stopped and turned around. Mhal sat back in his chair, those mysterious eyes reading him like a book. His heart, merely tight before, was now a clenched fist. He realized he was clenching his fists. Behind Mhal's intelligent stare, he could see the hot-mad face of the commissar, calling him insulting names. What if Kins found out?

"How…" Cav was deeply unnerved. He was not afraid but disturbed, the way someone might be if they saw a painting wink at them. "How did you know?" He thought about Mhal's sneaky habits. "Did you sneak into my bunk and read my diary?" Mhal smiled to himself, as if laughing at some private joke. To Cav, that was a yes. "Don't!" Cav said a little too loudly. "That's a very sensitive thing to me, it's like my soul. Don't read it."

"I won't read it," Mhal promised with a grinning voice. Cav left, no longer amused by Mhal's knowledge of his hill clan. He wondered how many Angelspears Mhal had killed as he climbed back into his bunk.

…

The wrecked cathedral lay dead in the early morning light. The carrion of battle filled it with an awful sight and an awful smell. Twisted, dismembered humans lay amongst killed orks. Beside the blasted wreck of his wagon, the great nob who had led this band lay slain, his horned helmet still firmly on his skull despite the killing shot that had fried his brain.

With a wrench of its pliers, the grot ripped one of the fallen nob's teeth out.

"Rrrrrrr…." The angry, guttural gurgle of the huge ork warrior who stood over his fallen fellow was enough to make the grot scamper away. The owner of that growl was a similarly dressed nob, of equal size and strength. Around him swarmed many more orks. Many of them small pushovers, but a few were as big as he was. This ork knew he had to be careful of turning his back to them when there was plunder around.

A smaller ork stomped up to him.

"Raaaa! Rahr! RAW! Chhurunk!" the smaller ork said, gesturing to leave. The bigger ork looked down at the smaller ork's belt, which was hung heavy with grenades, looted from the bodies.

"RAAAAGH!" The larger ork tore a handful of the grenades away and beat the smaller one's face for being greedy. The small one scampered off to the sound of deep laughter from the others.

"Rahhr! NARH! Rahnrarrr! RAW! RAW! Nragh!" The huge ork roared. Pushing through the other orks came an ork a little smaller than he was. As it was, this other tall greenskin wore only a pair of trousers and hailed from a different clan. The ork loosed another string of piggish snorts and snarls at this shirtless ork. Most humans would not guess those sounds were the words of an alien language. **Der's more of dem coward humies arounds here. We's gotta stomp em! Dey killed one of da best boyz of Skullkicka! **The ork thrust a fat finger at the dead nob. **Dey's gotta be worth a good fighin! **Most of these dead orks were from the more numerous, smaller tribes that made up Skullkicker's Waaagh! But this big nob was clearly one of the seniors from the tribe of Skullkicker himself.

**So den what's you wantin me to do, big Kazdug? **the smaller ork bellowed.

**A buncha bitty boyz is not worth it, but these humie boyz have stomped a tuff nob, they have. Der around here's somewheres. I wanna get to fightin dem before we hed up to da big hill fing! **Kazdug made his point by stomping his foot. The smaller ork nodded quickly.

**Whatever you's says, you big boss. I's gots just da fing we needs. Give me and da kommando boyz a day and we's… **Kazdug pulled the little kommando ork in by his throat until he could smell his breath.

**I's knows da uvver kommando boyz hasn't been able to's find out where da humie coward boyz are hiding. You's is gonna do zat or I'll has your hide, I will. You's is gonna find da humies before's we gots to go to da hill wiff da warboss or you's is going on me bosspole right and sure! **Kazdug growled to the inferior. He turned and went back to looting, punting a grot aside and tearing a handful of teeth from a lesser ork's corpse.

The kommando, who's name happened to be Slitta, spat and fished through his trousers for a cigar. He took it out and, as he smoked it, contemplated how he could track the humans back to their lair.


	8. Suicide Detail

_Diary. _

_I didn't manage to write yesterday because I was busy. The First Company, or what's left of it, has just joined us, along with Curth and the six surviving boys from his section of the 89__th__. Emperor above, so many dead. I had to work them into our unit and the whole of yesterday was just nonstop busy, securing everyone, writing reports, sorting out Curth as my second-in-command, now that there are too few of his unit left alive. He took it well. _

_I have a feeling we're about to lose a lot more. We're down here for now, but its only a matter of time before we do what Mhal brought us here to do in the first place._

_Speaking of Mhal, I'm a little weary of him. He knows father and uncle Nordrenner both followed Halivor's rebels because he's been through this diary. He fought against the Angelspears during the uprising. I hope he doesn't become as big a pain as Kins._

…

"We have a problem," Osprey began to the mess hall table, now packed with officers from both companies as well as a few Water Dogs. Mhal stood at the front. Cav and Curth were the sole representatives of the 89th and they sat beside Lystartro so he could whisper any commands to them once they were agreed upon. "This is something we have dealt with before but it's a pain in the behind none-the-less." He nodded to the table. "More ork rangers are sniffing for us. If they find us…" He gave the table the thumbs down.

"You've dealt with this before?" Arcantillius asked, loud and commanding. Lystartro stared grimly at the table, brooding and thoughtful. The two were direct contradictions. Arcantillius looked younger by at least five years and was still somewhat youthfully handsome. He spoke like a nobleman and was what some troopers would call a "spit-and-shine" officer.

"Couple times," Osprey cleared his throat. "It's easy to kill, but if successful, we're all dead. Basically, a bunch of ork rangers are picking through the ruins, looking for signs of us."

"How do you kill them?" Kins demanded.

"Snipers kill them from hiding," explained Mhal, "while scout teams search the nearby area for big pockets of orks who could get drawn to the gunfire. If the snipers will attract the enemy, they do not shoot. Otherwise, they do. If the rangers get away, the scout teams cut off their retreat."

"It's a delicate process," Osprey concluded. "My Water Dogs and Mhal's stormtroopers should carry it out." The room agreed to this quickly. Cav had a feeling Osprey and Mhal took care of this problem whenever it arose.

"So, who's going to be on Plan B detail?" one of the Water Dogs asked. Osprey's casual mood noticeably tensed. He took out a six-sided die.

"Who wants to be one?" he asked.

"What in the name of the Throne?" Lystartro asked, looking up.

"Just a little backup measure," Osprey explained. "If the plan goes to hell, if the orks are attracted by the snipers, we always setup a small, pretend band of survivors and make it look like they were the ones who killed the rangers. They sacrifice themselves to sate the ork's bloodlust. The orks finish them off and wander away, thinking they've won." A few of the Water Dogs bowed their heads. "So we let the Emperor decide who dies if they have to." He shook the die. "Who's one?"

"Don't use that," Kins snapped. Arcantillius gave him a foul look and Osprey narrowed his eyes. "Use your head. Don't put it to that thing. If we had to get rid of someone, who should it be? How about the lowest, least skilled unit here. How about we send…"

A half hour later, Cav, Curth and Tigerson were sitting in the middle of the mess hall, which was now full of the 89th, enjoying a respite from chores around the Water Dog's lair. Water fungus was the staple food here and the groundwater made sure there was plenty to go around. Cav found it to be salty and chewy, but pretty good. He could pretend it was meat. But now, even a good meal couldn't lighten him up.

He looked at a few boys, sitting off on their own in the corner, coping with their own personal daemons, brought onto them by the horror of the war. A few handfuls were sitting together and playing card games and happily scarfing back their meal.

"Boom!" a meaty trooper from Curth's unit slammed a hand of cards on the table. "Three aces." His table burst into laughter. The trooper, evidently the winner of that meaningless round of cards, didn't even show hints that he had been one of the lucky survivors of Curth's sorry group.

"Hey, Cav," Tigerson said as assuringly as he could. "If it's too much, I'll tell em." Cav spat into his bowl.

"It's all because of Kins. It's all because he hates me. I'm the stupid strawhead," he squeezed his spoon.

"Look man, Kins is a jerk, but it's not your fault. I think Osprey would have picked us anyway," Curth whispered. "Hey, we're just the shotstoppers." Cav clenched his teeth and squeezed his spoon in anger.

"No, we're not shotstoppers, we're not nothings. We're soldiers. We've got to mean something." Cav thought of his people's proud warrior tradition and how they made it look so easy. "How do the Guardsmen stand it? One freaking nightmare to the next, day in, day out. Is it something they teach in Guard camp but not in PDF? How the hell am I supposed to tell them about this?" Tigerson sat back in his chair and looked distantly forward, his hand idly picking at the other hand's back, at the place where his gang tattoo once marked.

"Lystartro once said gangboys made bad armyboys because we're insubordinate losers," Tigerson muttered. Curth grinned.

"Oh, you mean you aren't?"

"We are, but I think he was wrong about it on one count, you know?" Tigerson's eyes began to imitate Mhal's: distant and unfathomable. "On the street, you see a lot of killing, you bury a lot of your friends. After a while, you get used to it. That's how they do it. They just forget about the hell and go with the flow." He patted Cav on the shoulder. "Come on you inbred, dirt-munching strawhead, you wanna stop being afraid? You've got to spend long enough in hell to get used to the screams." He smiled. "Yeah, I know it's not the sunshine and candy answer you wanted but that's how I do it."

"And, come on now, you're the one who was bragging about popping that ork with the rocket pack yesterday," Curth added, "you inbred, dirt-munching strawhead," he added with a smirk. Cav looked down into his bowl, at the bubbly white mess that his saliva made amongst the fungus. He got to his feet and took a deep breath to get everyone's attention.

The whole room listened.

Cav wasn't a good public speaker and it showed. He stumbled once when he couldn't find the right words. But he explained it adequately.

"I hope," he finished, "that we aren't needed. But if we have to, it's been a pleasure serving with you. We move out when we're called. As you were." The room was silent for a moment as a few boys cursed. But the games and talking resumed and many people laughed as jokes about their new orders were told. Cav sat back down and shook his head. "I sounded like a dork, right?"

"Sure thing," Curth patted his back. "Hey, it's just orders. Not like you're sending them up there." Curth crossed his hands and cleared his throat. "Of course, whatever the hell it is, it couldn't be worse than the damned cathedral." This was his first time mentioning it and Cav was suddenly interested. He knew of the fight but few details.

"What happened?" Cav asked.

"What you hear," Curth took a bite of fungus and chewed it for longer than he had to. Cav realized Curth was chewing so he didn't have to talk. Cav remembered how Lystartro told him every soldier had a story they wouldn't tell. Now, Curth had one too.

Cav loved to think about his war experience because the kills he'd made could make him feel strong, important, valuable to the Imperium. He had a sinking feeling that these orders would send him to the setting of the story that he would never tell.

He did not know it at the time, but he was right.

…

"Frens, are you dead yet?" Lystartro entered the Water Dog's infirmary (he was amazed they had one, and one that was actually quite well equipped,) and sat down on the cot next to the one Frens lay on. Arcantillius leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms. Frens, who was bandaged quite heavily, opened his weary eyes at his captain and saluted, despite his injuries.

"Sorry to break your heart, sir," he gasped weakly. "I'm still kicking. You can't have my lasgun yet." Lystartro smiled as he set his things down around himself. He whispered a few prayers to his shotgun's machine spirit and prepared to go through his ritual of cleaning.

"Eh, he's got his old baby right there," Arcantillius added. "Wonderful place, this infirmary. Reminds me of Salsheema'dosh, but without the loose nurses." The three men began to laugh like boys, despite Frens' injury. Lystartro gave an agreeing nod and accidentally bumped an oiling rag off his cot. Arcantillius went in to get it. Still chuckling, Lystartro took the rag and continued working on his shotgun.

"I can't believe you're still thinking about that place. You've just lost most of your company on this stupid little expedition and Frens here might not make it," Lystartro said as the laughter died. "When I see the colonel next, I'm going to ask him about Mhal. I just want to knife that guy…" He gestured stabbing and a loose piece of shotgun bounced to the floor. "Emperor damn…Arcantillius?" The other captain leaned down to get it.

"Truly though," Arcantillius added, handing Lystartro the component. "Doesn't it seem odd that they'd send us here on two missions instead of one? I asked Mhal why the coverup and he said it was to hide our presence from any bandits who might be spying on our chatter. But, I mean, two missions? This hell with the cathedral wouldn't have happened if I'd been with the Fifth."

"The way I hear it, it was a stupid shotstopper and his grenade," Frens murmured.

"That's not the point," Lystartro said. "I can see where the captain's coming from. I thought it made sense when we first dropped in, but since Arcantillius came? And we still haven't found out who the hell twisted up the insides on our vox-sets. I'm starting to think they were like that to begin with. I don't think anyone here would have done it."

"Except for Mhal," Frens mumbled. Lystartro looked at him sideways but didn't say anything. He continued cleaning in silence.

"Why not? Maybe he's a psyker? We know nothing about him," Frens said.

"We know he's a stuck-up gloryboy," Lystartro muttered.

"His men are very good killers," Arcantillius added, "I wish they'd take off their masks…"

"Why? So you could kiss them?" asked Lystartro, aiming his shotgun at the wall.

"Just so I could tell them apart," Arcantillius replied. "It would be an honour to look upon such fine killers."

"Yup, so you could kiss them," Lystartro grumbled. He looked at Arcantillius. "We have to find out how Mhal contacted HQ so we can verify his story. Don't give him any ideas of what we're doing and don't spread rumors." He looked at Frens. "You focus on getting better. I need my lieutenant back."

"I'll stay right here," Frens replied.

"What do we tell Kins?" Arcantillius asked.

"He can use his position as commissar to bring Mhal to heel if he causes trouble. If Mhal doesn't cooperate, we know he isn't who he says he is," replied Frens.

…

He'd been calm and bored at first, but now he was bowstring tense.

It was midday and the city of Essendrav was just as grey as it always was, even if it looked different to Cav. Out here, on this narrow T shaped cross of streets that ran between a pair of crumbling offices, the city was no longer an urban wilderness devoid of life and full of shadow. To him, this was his final battlefield. Piles of rocks now looked different as did the shadows and the looming buildings. Cav didn't know how they looked different, but knowing that here was where he would rot and die made it look different.

It all began with a message on the short-range vox-set. As Cav and Tigerson listened, they heard the report from one of the Water Dogs. The heavy-voiced man told them all that had happened as they crouched in the ruins, waiting for the order to stand down and return underground. Then, after a few hours, they got that order. They had been told to wait on this street while Osprey sent someone to lead them back down. So Cav had his boys garrison the buildings on either side of the road and wait.

Then, just as they settled in, a flare shot off from one of the rooftops and high into the sky, exploding in a spectacular red burst. Cav realized what that meant and felt everyone else knew the same. The Water Dogs had led them to their graves and the flare was to attract the enemy. The gunshots had alerted the orks: Cav and the boys of the 89th Volunteers PDF were to die.

"Should…should we do something?" Curth asked Cav from his place at a ground level window, looking down the street ahead of them. It stretched off into an eternity to Cav. That endless grey, endless road. Endless death. The orks, he somehow knew, would come from there.

"What?" Cav asked, "I doubt Osprey will let us back down and he seems to know the orks will not stop looking for him until they kill a few of us." He raised his lasgun and swallowed some fear. "If we abandon cover the orks might hit us in the freaking open. If we walk around, we'll get lost." He looked at the small room he was in, at Tigerson and Josahik. "Emperor…what are we supposed to do?" He ignored Curth and looked back down the street.

This wasn't how he imagined it would be. Rather than hysterical with terror, Cav was nervous, like a child going to a new school. Cav congratulated himself for remaining calm. Perhaps for the last time? He swallowed. Perhaps for the last time? Everything he was doing could be his last! Why was he counting all his lasts? He should be preparing for the orks…

The explosion was so sudden that Cav's heart lost all its weight and beat like a machine gun. A second explosion, closer this time, blossomed in the tortured street. Cav heard a shrill whistle, then one of the buildings on the opposite end of the street was gutted, bringing the whole rockrete mess down until a drifting grey cloud and a sad heap was all that remained of the short office.

"Damn it, they'll pound us to death," Curth cursed, shaking. Tigerson and Josahik were both visibly calmer. When one shell landed especially close, enough to make Cav duck down, Tigerson began to cackle with violent joy.

"Come on you ork bastards! Come on! We're right here, come and get us!" Tigerson howled into the storm. He shook his fist. He looked like he was having fun. Cav swallowed one last mouthful of fear and aimed into the storm, not caring that he could die at any minute.

"Right here!" he heard himself shout. "Right here you orks! Right here!" He ducked away as another whistling shell smashed the top half off another abandoned office. Cav hid and felt Tigerson pat his shoulder.

"See Cav? Just get used to it. Nothing to it," he smiled. Cav's reply was silenced by the reports of lasfire all around them. Cav ducked his head up into the window and aimed, perhaps for the last time. The shells had stopped. He heard growling engines, not long and babbling like a tank, but in long bursts of mechanical ferocity.

"What? They have cars now?" asked Josahik. The rest of his words were drowned out as the sound of heavy machinegun fire tore the air. Cav ducked down just as a crazy orkish jalopy tore across the road, a roof-mounted machine gun spitting lead madly into the buildings. It passed, but Cav could still hear it, but he could hear more than that. Still, whistling bombs fell and still lasguns fired, but there were also rattling orkish guns in there too. He peeked over the window, forgetting his fear, as he looked down the street.

Rolling up the street, marching stiffly and flaunting their oversized guns, was a dense squad of the biggest orks Cav ever hoped to face. Their rippling dark muscles bulged out from between the cracks in their haphazard armour suits and most of them wore cumbersome helmets. Cav fired at them without thinking.

His lasgun was deadly and his aim was adequate. But each of his bolts burst uselessly apart against their suits. Even the shots that found flesh did little to slow the great aliens. One of them raised his gun, which was far too big for any human to use by hand.

"Back door!" Cav cried as he ducked down and ran for the door on the back wall, to a room further back. He made it thorugh with Tigerson just as a drumroll of steel thunderclaps ripped through the air. Massive ork rounds burst into the room they had just left, shredding and destroying everything.

"Run!" Cav cried, pushing past a 89th trooper who had been watching the hall. Curth jumped after him, unbalancing himself so he could run. Cav and Tigerson ran down the hall, which ran parallel to the room they had fled. The boy-trooper they passed shuddered violently as orkish shots exploded through the wall and continued, making grapefruit dents in the opposite wall. He flopped down the wall and died on the floor, the boy's organs spraying the wall he'd been in front of.

"Faster!" Curth ran towards a door at the hall's end, jumping over a splintered wooden crate that some unknown human had dumped there, either days or years ago. The three ran as fast as they could as the hall crumbled around them while ork shots tore it up. Cav realized he was screaming in exertion. He saw a bullet break through the wall ahead of him and flash past him. Curth jumped into the door, pushing it open and landing in a heap. Cav and Tigerson followed, tripping over him and nearly falling. They had to fall down anyways.

"Hi sir," Maxin greeted, crouching beside his friend Trennith. Both were covered in dust and crouching in the crater that had once been a room in the office. The door opened to to the open air. Curth lay at the bottom of the substantial crater, cursing.

"Big orks, lots," Cav gasped. The whole hallway thing had happened so fast, he was only now thinking of how terrifying it had been. "We can't stop them."

"Josahik," Tigerson whispered, peeking up from the crater and through the door. Josahik was still inside, on the floor and holding his right leg into his chest. Cav knew before he sat the blood that the young trooper was hit. He wasn't making a noise though.

"Can't get," Trennith whispered. Trennith's voice was naturally soft. "There's orks out there. I just saw a big truck."

"There's huge monsters out there with guns that'll make you pee yourself," Cav hissed back. "Do you know how many there are out there?" A stupid question.

"A trillion," Curth spat, taking his place at the lip of the crater and searching the empty street, watching for the orks who'd just shot at them. "Knowing my luck, it's prolly so." Cav took another look as Josahik.

"Are we going to save him?" he asked.

"You want to…"

"Orks! Orks! Right there! Right there!" Maxin said frantically, pointing from over the crater's lip. Sure enough a few of them were stomping up the street, machineguns ready. They were smaller and less armoured than the larger ones that sent Cav running. Josahik was forgotten as Cav took aim.

"Don't shoot till they get close…" Cav said. Tigerson was already blazing away. The orks snarled and jumped towards the nearest building, sheltering among the stucture's toppled rockrete bulk. Cav saw one of the orks get hit and bleed, but alien fortitude didn't let it die. Damn!

"Kill them!" he shouted. His lasgun emptied the clip he had fast. He ducked down to reload. By chance, he spotted the hallway they'd come out of. One of the huge ork gunners was filling it and taking aim at their crater. Cav ducked and slid down the crater towards the bottom. The first shots the ork took flew over their heads.

"Duck! Duck!" Cav screamed, fumbling with a fresh cell. Tigerson was beside him fast and fired up at the alien with impressive accuracy. Curth and Maxin added their shots too, though not as helpfully. Trennith was slouched against the crater's lip, his skull broken open and his brains exposed to the air.

"Kill it!" Cav shouted, raising his gun. The ork toppled over just before he could squeeze of his first round. Tigerson smiled to himself and gave an insane laugh.

"Let's get back to shooting the smaller things, eh Cav?" they returned to the lip of the crater, now studded with holes from the ork's heavy gun. The squad of orks had not stayed put. They were three quarters of the way to Cav's hole, some of them with blades in hand and some waving their guns like clubs.

"AH!" Cav let all his ferocity and fear out of himself in one splitting yell. He aimed as best he could and fired and hoped. The other boys scattered, having spent most of their clips on taking down the large ork. Cav stood alone. The orks were fast.

His gun was empty and two orks were down, but they didn't register on his mental kill-tally. He was already standing up and sprinting away, running, of all places, into the street. He hopes someone would see the orks chasing him and cut them down. He had no defense against running into more orks except faith.

The sound of orkish roars behind him told him they were still there. Cav continued his punishing sprint, making his legs work harder than they had ever before. The road and the empty buildings flashed by around him. The orks though, he still heard them. He saw an open door and ran into it. He almost crashed into the back of an ork warrior, standing in the room he found himself in.

Without thinking, he stabbed its back with all his might and ran off to the side towards the first doorway he saw, continuing his mindless dash for survival. He felt the bayonet break and the ork growl and fire its loud pistol. The window Cav ran past shattered as an ork ran through it, its swinging machine gun barely missing Cav's back.

Somehow still alive, Cav jumped through that doorway and up the stairs to the right, rather than into that noise-filled room behind the closed foor before him. He felt his balance in jeapordy on the narrow stairs as he charged up them. He heard an ork roar at him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Get ready!" shouted a boy's voice from the top of the stairs.

"It's Cav you bastards!" Cav screamed, knowing one jumpy trigger was all that was needed to kill him, slowly and terribly. He did not care. He came to the top of the stairs and held up his hands and lasgun as he burst into a spacious floor that looked like it has once been a workshop. There were enough tables to build a castle, and the barricades that surrounded the stairs looked almost strong enough to hold an ork back for a few seconds.

"It's one of us!" a pair of 89th boys beckoned for him to work his way behind the barricades. Others were there, aiming at the stairs from behind the tables. He saw a few dirty faces he knew by name and some who's names he forgot.

"Ork! Behind!" Cav gasped, catching his breath from the long sprint as he hurried behind the barricade. He hadn't managed to squueze behind it before an ork stormed up the stairs. Lasguns went off, but the stairs weren't the biggest concern.

"More of them!" one of the boys cried. "Over there!" It was that meaty survivor from Curth's unit. What was his name? He was pointing a large hand at a worrying hole in the wall, around which freshly fallen debris was clustered. Cav's heart skipped a beat when he saw a number, maybe six, of the infamous rocket berzerkers shooting towards it, axes in hand. Cav's mind and body reacted in an instant. He remembered his first kill, he remembered how he did it. Those big rockets made easy targets. As the other boys struggled to decide which enemy to shoot at, Cav squeezed his trigger. Burst after burst, towards the center.

The few shots Cav took wouldn't have killed an ork unless very precisely aimed. But they killed orks anyways. Cav shot their rockets. Not all of them exploded, but one of them did. There was an explosion just outside the hole. From the black curtain of smoke the explosion made came nothing. It cleared moments later to show nothing. The greenskins had been blasted away, perhaps to crash and die in the street.

Cav heard gunshots come from the stairs and an orkish yell as the greenskins tried to force their way up here. One of the 89th boys fell back fro mthe barricade, nursing a bloody shoulder. But with nowhere to go, he did not fall back. None of them did. They fought and fought.

...

Tigerson and Curth paused to take a breath. All the orks had gone after the others. He and Curth were safe. Where was Maxin? What did it matter? There was still a battle to die in. The distant gunfire was too good a reminder of that. Both boys were in the open street. Around them, there was nothing except the depressing grey of this urban world and faded signs. A few had words on them, But this ruin gave plenty of places for the boys to hide. They silently chose a crumbing shop. Only when they entered did they find the shop had been gutted and the interior was open to the street behind them.

An ork jalopy filled the street.

"Orks!" Tigerson whispered, his street-honed instincts making him take cover amidst the rubble before Curth, the bully who's targets didn't fight back. Curth, however, eased his friend with a wave.

"What in the Emperor's name?" he asked. Tigerson took a peek.

The jalopy was abandoned and its driver was dead: shot in the head. Its machine gunner was dead at his rooftop post, blown completely in half.

Around the street was were some familiar orks: the great muscular armoured ones with great guns. They all lay dead in pools of their own blood, their armour torn like paper mauled by scissors. Amongst them lay a few lesser orks, also messily slaughtered.

"What in the name of the Throne?" asked Tigerson. "Other resistance? Are we saved?"

"Don't call out," Curth warned, taking cover.

"Yeah, I know."

From around the corner of the ruined jalopy came a boy in a dirty 89th uniform. He looked around with simple eyes then looked over at Tigerson and Curth.

"Looks like some urchin found one of our uniforms," Tigerson whispered. "No good lunatic kids, homeless orphans who live like rats in the alleys. Theives all."

"Who do you suppose he undressed to…Wait," Curth said, looking harder. "Isn't that…?" The dirty boy stumbled wearily towards them, like they were wild predators on the verge of attacking. "Mieel!" Curth shouted. Tigerson blinked and looked harder.

"Well, it is," he whispered, disbelieving it.

"Mieel!" Curth shouted. Mieel ran over, bouncing over dead orks. "Aren't you one tough bastard?" Curth began. Mieel pounced on him, embracing him like a brother. Curth looked awkwardly at Mieel and looked uncertainly at Tigerson, who was snickering. Curth got annoyed. He wasn't used to being on the getting end of a bullying snicker.

"Get off!" he was about to compound it with a few threats, but then sympathy cursed him. Despite the hot sun, Mieel was shivering.


	9. Mieel's Interrogation

A few hours later, the Water Dogs and members of a resistance group who all wore arbites uniforms showed up. There was an exhausted cheer when they were told they had survived. Cav was not ecstatic with joy as his new chance at life. To be frank, the thought that today was his last day got old after the third hour and by the time he was rescued, he was thinking more about sleep than about living. He didn't even bother to ask why they were being rescued. The answer was the orks were all dead, but he didn't find out until later.

Too exhausted to care that he had just lived through a suicide mission, Cav followed the Water Dogs back to the sewers. They bid goodbye to the arbites resisters and entered the darkness. Cav didn't remember the journey back or the evening meal of water fungus. He just found himself lying on his bunk before passing out.

He didn't get much sleep.

"What?" Cav groaned as he opened his eyes. He caught sight of Kins standing over him in full dress, looking like a stormcloud. What was he angry about? What could he possibly be angry about? Cav had just survived an onslaught of orks and the 89th had won the day all by themselves. So to hell with Kins.

"On your feet you damned strawhead!" Kins snapped his fingers as he barked. "Lystartro says your report is due. Where in the Emperor's name is it? I'm not doing the headcount for you." The report. Of course! Cav felt like hitting himself. It was like forgetting his own name to forget a detail like that. But he was so tired.

"Tired…" Cav yawned and shook his head. "What time is it?"

"Am I to understand you're not following your orders?" Kins demanded, hands on his hips.

"No commissar, I was just clearing my head. I'll get right on it." Kins would execute Cav for any reason. He would not give the short-tempered commissar a reason. Kins left and Cav took a few minutes to revive himself. He fetched some paper and began to write his report.

A half hour later, Cav found Lystartro in the mess hall where he sat with Osprey, Yueka, Kins and Arcantillius. What time was it? Cav guessed it was the evening because no one was awake anywhere else. So why were they missing sleep? At the end of the table sat four of Mhal's stormtroopers, again they were masked and suited up. They weren't eating, just sitting still and waiting. Now that he thought of it, he never saw them in the mess hall with the Water Dogs during mealtimes. He's never seen them eat or drink or, for that matter, do anything except stand or fight. He turned from them and to the circle of officers.

"Captain," Cav said, "I have my report." The headcount had frightened him. 22 left, including himself and Curth's unit. 22 out of 200. If the other two groups had collectively taken 22 losses then they were at half strength. All those boys from training, from the academy, one half of all of them were dead. They'd looked so tough, standing in formation in battledress under the eyes of their vicious trainers. It hadn't been a month and half of them were dead!

"Thank you," Lystartro said, taking the paper. Cav turned to go. "You want to join in?" Cav looked at the circle and noticed they were playing cards. Even Kins had a hand and was contemplating it closely. Osprey scratched his nose and fingered on card as if to discard it.

"What, you think because we're all officers it means you can't join?" Arcantillius asked. "I heard some pretty nasty things happened when you were out there. But your boys saved us all. You should be proud of them Cav." He slid aside to make room for him between himself and Osprey. " Sit down. Cool off. You've earned your place at the officer's table as commander of the 89th." Cav felt proud as he sat with the other officers. He gave a weak smile and took a hand of cards when the next round began. He knew the game, having learned it in basic and played it with the other boys, many of whom were now dead and rotting.

Cav won the first round, narrowly beating Kins' hand. The entire table laughed at Kins when Cav showed his hand. The commissar gave a loud, laughing exhale and looked lazily at Cav as if to say "but I'm still commissar." He had his revenge on Cav in the next round.

"…and I shot the greenskin right off the top of the turret with my rifle," finished Osprey as he discarded a card and picked another up. He'd won the last three rounds. Cav didn't think this game took much skill, but apparently it did, because Osprey was such a good player. "I got revenge on him," he touched the round scar on his forearm. "And then this one…" he stood up and lifted his shirt to show them the dent on his stomach, "was during the ork raids two years back." He sat back down.

"A bad time," Yueka added. "Lost a lot of good boys there. Mhal's troops saved my life in those old days." She laughed, but Cav couldn't guess why.

Two years? These stormtroopers had been posted with the Water Dogs that long? It fightened Cav to think he had barely started his terrible term in this sewer-home.

"What about you captain? How'd you lose your hand?" Yueka asked Lystartro.

"A grenade exploded in my hand," Lystartro lied absently as he picked through his hand and grimaced at how bad it apparently was. "I don't suppose you have any scars in your girl places you would like to show us?" Osprey chuckled and Yueka stared at him like an angry lioness.

"Yeah, I've got one. Right here," she threw him a rude gesture.

"Yueka!" Kins warned. Lystartro waved Kins silent, without even raising his grizzled brow from his cards.

That ended the conversation about scars. Soon a new round began. This time, Arcantillius won. As Cav collected a new hand, he looked again at the stormtroopers. They were still where they were. They'd played fifteen rounds of cards and those four hadn't even shifted.

"How did you meet up with those guys?" Cav asked, nodding. Osprey and Yueka looked at each other. Yueka shrugged and looked down at her hand.

"Mhal came down with his group to give us special help. He's actually from a different company than his squad mates. I guess because losses forced them together." Osprey discarded a card and picked one up. "They don't say much."

"Truly?" asked Arcantillius, "I don't think I've ever seen any of them take off their mask, except Mhal." He squinted at them. "Do they even have names? I've served with gloryboys before and I've not met a lance of them who're as shy as this squad has made itself."

"They can hear you," Lystartro muttered to the other captain, "at least, I think so." Everyone looked at the silent four. "Hey! What are you four waiting for? Can we help?" Silence. Cav looked at Osprey and Yueka. They had their faces in their cards and huddled down. Were they trying to stay out of this? Cav looked back at the unmoving stormtroopers. Why was Osprey so nervous with his most helpful allies? Did they know Mhal suspected the Halivorians were making a return?

"Tomorrow I want to see how you got in touch with our headquarters," Kins shouted to the four statues. "So I can confirm some things. Alright?" Silence. Kins dropped his hand and stood up. "I am speaking to you. Tell your commander that I want to inspect his vox sets."

"I'll talk to Mhal about that," Osprey said, but Kins waved him silent.

"No, I will talk to Mhal about that," Kins said, "and these four are…"

"Are what, commissar Kins?" Mhal asked. Cav had just gone through a living nightmare of war and dying and he was as startled ny Mhal as he had been when the shells suddenly fell. Now, Mhal was good at sneaking, but Mhal had just had his eyes right there, where he was standing. How was it humanly possible to move that fast, that silent? Kins turned to Mhal, who had a calm face that was inspecting his pistol.

"There's some things I want ironed out," Kins stated.

"And I heard," Mhal replied. "Unfortunately, some ork rangers snuck into my hidden outpost up in the ruins and destroyed my gear. I thought I told you earlier." Kins scowled.

"You didn't," he replied. "I'd remember if you did. You are a liar Mhal." Mhal gestured to Arcantillius.

"Did his men have sets?" the enigmatic sergeant asked.

"All destroyed," Arcantillius replied.

"Ours too," Lystartro added. He looked darkly at Mhal but said nothing. Did he suspect…? No. Mhal? How could Mhal Dannit have been behind the radio's destruction? It was just a freakish accident.

"Come Cav, I want you to see someone your underlings dragged in from the battlefield," Mhal said, pointing behind himself. Cav shrugged and stood up, following Mhal without question.

"You know a lot about your people's history?" Mhal asked, offhand. "I've not met a lot of Angelspears and I've always wanted to discuss history with them. Maybe tomorrow, instead of cards, we could have a talk?" Cav shrugged, not wanting to admit he was growing increasingly uncomfortable with Mhal Dannit. Something wasn't right, something definitely wasn't right with him.

…

The four stormtroopers left the room shortly after Mhal. As one, they rose up at an unspoken order and trudged outside like zombies, heading down the same direction and out of sight. Kins looked down at his cards and snorted. He was waiting for the right moment to strike and demand answers.

"Like…you hate Mhal so much. What did you expect this mission would have?" asked Yueka. Kins spoke the fastest.

"The mission briefing did not mention stormtroopers and the two companies were sent separately," Kins replied. Yueka shrugged, like it was no big deal.

"So what? War's a pain in the tail," she smiled at her hand and made ready to show it. "What was your mission?"

"Meet up with someone named Agent 33 and help them get off Urbanis 1," Kins replied. "This Agent 33 person was supposed to be right there at the drop site. Agent 33 wasn't and Mhal showed up long after we were expecting him." Yueka rolled her eyes.

"Or her," she said.

…

"Mieel?" Cav hurried across the bunkroom, past the three old women who were knitting gloves, to Mieel, who sat alone at the rearmost bunk. With a polite nod, Mhal dismissed the women and stood behind Cav. Mieel wore his dirtied uniform and smelled bad. He looked into Cav's face and his eyes widened slightly. Cav sat beside him.

Mhal quickly explained how Tigerson and Curth brought him in.

"Wow, you must be tired," Cav said with a smile. "And lucky too." Mieel said nothing and Cav remembered what Lystartro said about battlefield shock. "Come on Mieel, speak up. You're not in the killing anymore, you're with the Water Dogs." Cav explained everything he knew about them, as well as Mhal, to Mieel. "Cool, huh?" Cav asked. Mieel said nothing. "Come on Mieel…" Cav tried to remember which of the countryside villages Mieel lived in, to cheer him up with it. He couldn't recall. Damn!

"Can you do something for me?" Cav asked with a false smile. "Can you help out old Cav? Can you write down what happened to you if you can't speak it?" Mieel did not move or talk. Perhaps it was just as well. Cav had no paper…

"Here's paper," Mhal said, producing a crisp white sheet from…from…where did he get that? "A pencil too." He handed Mieel both items, but the boy didn't take them. So Mhal laid them on the table beside his bunk and left. Cav knew he couldn't get anywhere, not yet.

"Well, it's good to have you back," Cav smiled. "I'll write about how lucky you were in my diary? Okay?" Mieel didn't respond. "Okay," Cav ruffled his hair and bid him goodnight. He turned off the lights, leaving him in the dark.

An hour passed. The card game in the mess hall ended and everyone went to bed.

Two hours passed. The underground hideout was now asleep.

Before the third hour passed, a light lit up the room. It was a small light stick Mieel had found on one of the bunks. His eyes were dribbling tears and he sniffled a few times. With a shaking hand, he reached for the page. He knew Cav was angry with him, but if Cav knew how scared he was, he'd feel sorry for him. Why was the world so mean to him? What did Mieel have to do to escape it? Still, he had indeed seen something that night in the urban wilderness, which had killed those men. The memory in his head was too painful for him to describe, so instead he put his pencil to the paper and he began to draw what he saw.

When he was done, he threw his drawing on the floor, having grown afraid of it. He hid under his sheets, but that didn't make him safe. The drawing was still there. So he took the drawing and opened the door.

A stormtrooper was standing there, the staring mask lit by Mieel's light stick. Mieel recoiled, but froze when the stormtrooper held out his hand. Mieel gingerly passed the drawing to him and closed the door. Then he ran back to his bunk, turned off his light stick and cried.

Outside, the stormtrooper quietly walked to the mess hall, where Mhal and the other stormtroopers awaited in silence. He handed the drawing to one of the other stormtroopers, who looked at it.

"We have a problem," a voice said from behind the trooper's mask. "The boy saw this." From hand to hand, it was passed around. Mhal took it last and drew a deep, worried breath when he saw what Mieel drew.

"So, it is true then," he said. "We cannot wait. If we are to succeed, we have to act soon if they are this bold. What shall we do?" He looked around at the masked faces for answers. "I suspect the Guardsmen are catching on to our ruse. We might have to make a fast escape."

"Our priority is still the same. We must eliminate them before they make their move," one of the troopers said. Mhal nodded slowly, still thinking.

"We should summon the others," he finally said, "from what we've seen, the enemy is definitely on the move. We'll meet up with the rest of our brethren in the city and take our search from there."

"What will we tell the Water Dogs?"

"The truth: that we're scouting," Mhal finished. He folded up Mieel's drawing and pocketed it.


	10. Rebels

Kins sat in the mess hall, alone in the corner, and glared at Cav from beneath his cap and above a cup of hot water. There were so few 89th boys left, so few. They were mostly playing cards, Cav included, or chatting. Kins remembered when there were a hundred of them and there were not enough decks of cards to go around. Though he had no liking to these shotstoppers, it was still disheartening to see their numbers fall.

Cav had survived, thorugh a battle that was supposed to be impossible, for an entire afternoon and into the evening, he had fought on against the orks. His young comrades had massacred the enemy, despite Mhal's assurances that they were all to die. Now, Cav was still a disgsting strawhead Halivorian who stunk of treachery like an unwashed latrine stunk of excrement. But he was a very good soldier. Kins felt some respect for Cav, though still disliked him.

"Sir?" It was Husky. "I think we have it sir, I think we've got some noise." Kins was on his feet fast. Though Mhal had left early in the morning with his squad to go "scout," Kins was determined not to draw attention. He'd been doing this in secret since they got here. Now was the perfect time for the problems to be fixed, with nosy Mhal out of the way. Kins followed Husky to a storage closet on the other side of the Water Dog's underground village.

"Have you gotten command?" asked Kins as he pushed thorugh the maze of boxes to the back, where two other 112th troopers were tending to one of the vox sets that had been wrecked. It was hissing softly: a good sign that the machine spirit was pleased. Kins ducked down and patted the vox set, to calm the spirit in case he had startled it.

"Now, please do not be alarmed. We may not have done the rites perfectly, but we have eased your pain," Kins said to the spirit of the vox-caster. "Please, give my men and I a chance." They fiddled with the frequency.

"Urbanis 5? Urbanis 5? This is Commissar Kins, attached to the 112th Morchaghan in Urbanis 1," Kins said. "Is anybody there?" He looked at the settings. "Try the frequency for commissariate command…" wait, the guardsmen didn't know it. Kins rolled the knobs and patted the overworked vox-set. "Command? Come in command, this is Commissar Kins, attached to the 112th Morchaghan in Urbanis 1," the commissar asked.

"_Commissariate office. Go ahead Kins_," crackled the voice, produced by the sorcery of the machine's spirit. Kins laughed.

"Is that you Schennder?" Kins asked.

"_Yes sir," _coms-officer Schennder replied, "_How can I help you? Not got stuck in a hole again, are you?" _

"Actually…" Kins cleared his throat. "There's something I need done. I need you, or someone, to go over to the logic engine and access the records vault."

"_One moment."_

If Mhal burst in now, by the Emperor, Kins would shoot him.

"_Okay?" _Schennder asked, "_the engine is ready."_

"Record this access of the banks under my name," Kins said. There was a pause as Schennder did so. "Got it?"

"_It says I have to enter a password," _Schennder explained. Kins nodded, looking at the three troopers around him. When he chose his password, he didn't expect to ever tell it to someone else. Kins sent the guardsmen outside. "_Kins? Are you there?"_

"Yeah. Alright, a password?Type in…" Kins hoped he didn't sound too foolish. "Type in K-I-N-S-T-H-E-S-E-X-M-A-C-H-I-N-E." Pause.

"_Okay?" _Schennder sounded amused.

"Now pull up the service records for all stormtrooper units from the past 30 years."

"_Alright."_

"Do you see the 69th or 5178th Stormtrooper comapanies listed?" Kins asked. A pause.

"_I see them, I see them both," _replied Schennder. Kins looked at the list of names he'd gotten off the helmets of the stormtroopers in Mhal's unit.

"Access the service record of the troops from the 69th," Kins said.

"_Got it. So what should I do?" _

"What is the current status of…" he read the first name. "Trooper Cholav Sineski?"

"_Killed in action." _

"Trooper Antonial Trevvanay?"

"_Killed in action."_

Six more names were read out and he got the same three-word reply to each. When Kins was done, not one man in the 69th squad that Mhal commanded was alive. He grinned triumphantly to himself as he ordered Schennder to pull up the records for the 5178th company.

"What is the current status of Sergeant Mhal Dannit?" asked Kins. Pause.

"_There seems to be no record of a sergeant Mhal Dannit," _replied Schennder. Kins nodded.

"Got you, you bastard," he whispered.

Moments later, Kins burst into Osprey's room, hand on his chainsword, though not drawing it. His eyes were as sharp as the old commander's namesake. His eyes flashed like the sun and his coat spread out around the clean-shaven man in two leathery folds of black wings. Osprey shrunk beneath Kins, his hairy face showing surprise.

"I…what is wrong commissar?" Osprey asked. Most people, he'd ask to screw off and kick out the door. Osprey had been changing his shirt when Kins stormed in.

"Where is Mhal?" Kins demanded, his voice sharp enough to make Osprey's ears bleed.

"I swear, I really swear, I don't know where commissar," Osprey replied, "you have something you want to talk…" He raised his hands as two 112th troopers marched in, guns up. "Woah! Woah! This isn't really needed." Kins raised his pistol and pointed its barrel into Osprey's forehead. The big man quieted himself and remained calm.

"Now tell me some things I want to know, Osprey and this won't be too hard," Kins was as calm as a pond. "Who in hell is Mhal Dannit and why is he not listed in the roster or with the archives?"

"He's not?"

"No, and don't play stupid with me, I know when a man's making up what he's spitting out," Kins snapped back, "Mhal Dannit isn't anywhere on the records with the 5178th and all the men he's leading are listed as KIA. Don't expect me to believe that you didn't know that." Osprey said nothing. "What?" Kins gave his pistol a threatening shake. "You've seen how Dannit's men hide behind their ghostly suits and say nothing. What are they? They don't act human. You've noticed that, surely noticed that. And you've never found out? Who is Mhal Dannit?"

"Kins…"

"Who is Mhal Dannit!" Kins hissed.

"You really want to know all I know about him?" Osprey asked. "He's at war with one of the local resistance groups, one of the ones nearest to the bleeding mountain. The Temple Guards is what they go by. They're violent scavangers and Mhal wants them taken out to a man. Look, I know he might not be a real stormtrooper, but he's a good fighter and a good ork killer. He helps us and we accept it and you'd accept it too if you were stuck here surrounded by these greenskins." Kins didn't lower his gun.

"What do you know about them?"

"Only what Dannit tells me," Osprey shrugged. "He says they're fanatics…"

"Like Halivorians?"

"Never used that word, but guys devoted to a mountain sacred to the hill clans who have a violent tendency to Imperials, yeah, I think maybe." Kins narrowed his eyes. "The whole truth, every word. There's a lot of bandits in these ruins, but the Temple Guard are violent to everybody. They killed a pair of my guys a week before you arrived. But you came to kill orks." Kins nodded and lowered his pistol

"We're going to take care of you dogs until Mhal comes back, then we'll have a nice chat with him and his faceless boys," Kins nodded and Osprey was helped out the door by the two 112th. "Then we'll see what Mhal's hiding."

…

Under Lystartro's supervision, the Water Dogs were rounded up and confined to a number of the large caverns that carried pools of groundwater. The Water Dog fighters were pounced upon when unarmed or at rest. Many of them, reclining against a wall or in a bunk found lasguns to their chins and voices in their ears telling them to get up. The civilians were herded in big knots.

"You bastard men! You're all going to suffer at the Emperor's hands when he gets his hands on you!" Yueka cursed, kicking and biting as she was manhandled into a cavern. It took a few men and the stocks of their weapons to calm her down. The last Water Dog was herded into captivity and guards were posted. Lystartro and Arcantillius discussed their next move in the mess hall, now their headquarters. Mhal and a few 89th watched the entrance for Mhal.

"I still can't believe it," Tigerson mumbled for the eleventh time. "This guy…and two companies? How did he know the first of us were coming? How did he get those arrangements?"

"Whoever the real Agent 33 is must be pissed right off at us," Curth laughed, "wow, Lystartro prolly really really REALLY feels like an idiot right now." Curth found this oddly amusing. Cav was still apparently light with shock. He didn't show it on the outside, but the words he was writing in his diary said worlds to Lytartro. He stood behind the boys behind their sandbag wall and leaned on a nearby heavy bolter, resting securely on its tripod, with a brass chain of fat explosive shells trickling down its side and into an aquilla-stamped ammo crate at its feet. To be before the mouth of this monster of a weapon made one's life flash before one's eyes.

Cav knew Lystartro was there, as he was leaning with his back to the bags. Tigerson and Curth were facing him and looking at the door, tensely waiting for Mhal to come barging through, all lasers and power sword chops. They were so tense. Cav looked up at Lystartro, then at Curth.

"So, what do you think Lystartro will say to Mhal?" asked Cav, "and, please do it in your impression of the captain's voice." Cav and Lystartro shared a private smile.

"I'm as mad as a daemon!" Curth grumbled, "man, who do you think would win? The captain, or Mhal?"

"I don't sound like that, trooper," Lystartro said, afraid he might laugh and give himself away. Curth and Tigerson jumped, but Cav laughed like a clown. "And if you want to pull off my character, I've got to lop off your hand." Cav settled down and stood up. "If you're gonna tell me you haven't seen any sign of that fake glory-boy, don't waste your air. I can see." He patted the heavy bolter. "Don't be afraid to lie him down if he gives you any problems."

"No sir," Cav straightened his posture. "Now sir, Mhal said a few things to me about suspecting Halivorians. Does Kins know?"

"He knows what Mhal's afraid of out there," Lystartro spat. "Don't be too afraid though if there are bad men out there. A few hungry rebels aren't as bad as these damned orks."

"I don't know, fighting humans…people shoot straighter than orks," Tigerson remarked.

"But humans fall when you shoot them, but orks take a lot," Cav replied.

"You've killed, like, what, ten of them?" Tigerson scoffed. "You think you could kill ten guys with guns?"

"Boys, a shot to the gut or a stab to the neck will kill you, be it a human or an ork doing it," Lystartro replied. These boys had fought orks so often, he wondered if they would be any good against human gunmen. Lystartro had fought enough of both to know how different human enemies were from greenskinned ones. "If Mhal or these rebels he hates or any other scum with lasguns gives you trouble, keep your head down and get some help outflanking him and shoot straight." Lystartro walked over to Cav. "So, everything's all fine and nice down here?"

"Yes captain," Cav answered smartly. Lystartro was grateful to have a disciplined young fighter watching the remains of the 89th groups. Lystartro was proud of Cav. Assuming his luck held out, Cav's career might outdo his own. Now, what did Lystartro come here for?

"Cav," he said suddenly, "remember, you're still responsible for Mieel." How had that little squirt lived so long alone in Urbanis 1? The 89th shotsto…the 89th PDF Volunteers was full of surprises.

"What he say?" Curth asked softly, looking almost sad. Curth had been the one who took Mieel in. He had seen how broken the boy was.

"I talked to him all day…" Cav began his story of how Mieel did nothing but sit and stare.

"…asked the lady who gave him breakfast if he had moved and she said he hadn't even done that," Cav continued, "and then Kins had us take over the Water Dogs and the rest is history."

CLANG!

Lystartro's shotgun was out and he was on one knee, eyes trained on the door.

CLANG! It sounded like something was banging on the outside. Shouts echoed around the chamber and boys jumped into position. Cav sent Curth to summon 112th troops.

"What the hell?" Lystartro could swear it was metal on metal, making that noise. The door, metal and strong, was not bending beneath the loud, shrill strikes that broke against it, but the sound could come from nowhere else.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Lystartro pushed aside a 89th boy and manned the heavy bolter. They might be good for conscripted schoolboys, but Lystartro knew how to use one of these monstrosities. He was busy shouting directions at the nearest 89th boy on how to feed him his ammo, when the noise stopped. 112th Guardsmen swept in, guns up, but the noise was gone.

In his head, Lystartro reviewed his personal gallery of orkish adversaries and tried to identify one that matched this behavior. It seemed to him that most orks would keep bashing the door, unless it thought it would try to be cunning and look for a way to lift itself in through some other way. The smaller gretchen were not generally capable of making such loud noises. An ork walker? No, it wasn't noisy enough. Lystartro concluded that it was not an ork.

Therefore, it was either Mhal or rebels.

"Captain?" whispered Cav.

"Head down, I don't think its orks," Lystartro whispered.

A series of hollow metal sounds thumped a path across the ceiling. Feet. There must be a shaft or a pipe above their heads, likely far too narrow for a human. Lystartro's mind settled on a gretchen. He loaded his shotgun and ordered Tigerson and trooper Liev to follow him. Liev had good reflexes, Lystartro could count on him to drop a gretchen fast and clean. The three hurried into the empty halls of the Water Dog's underground town. Lystartro knew the guards were with their captives.

If his instincts were correct, this lonely gretchen was a scout, looking for humans. He'd seen this before. There wasn't much to do except kill the alien fast. The big orks were inevitable.

Then, a loud crash in one of the bunkrooms, followed by wild lasfire from within. Lystartro's mind eliminated the thought of a lonely gretchen. A 112th trooper would kill a gretchen faster than that. So what was it? Just as Lystartro reached the door, he remembered this was where Mieel was being held with a few civilian Water Dogs. He opened the door.

There was a hole in the ceiling. Mieel was in the corner, covering his eyes. Two 112th guardsmen were firing at the opposite corner, which sat beneath the freshly torn hole. The five civilians, all old women, were either dead or torn open and bleeding, slashed by blades. In the corner, sheltered behind the twitching corpse of one of its victims, was the murderer. Lystartro caught a flashing glimpse of a black spider-like shape before...

"Sir!" Liev's reactions were fast enough to pull Lystartro to one side in time. The spider thing was out in the hall with them. Tigerson jumped back from it as it leapt into the air and latched onto the ceiling. It was exploding down the hall, jumping from wall to floor to ceiling, too fast to hit. It seemed to defy gravity. It was gone in a few seconds.

"What, by the Throne?" Liev asked, blinking his burnished amber eyes. The other two were in the hall with them, guns still up.

"Where did it go?" one of them asked. Lystartro was still speechless, unbelieving of what he'd seen.

"Not an ork," he said. "Come on! We have to kill it!" They pursued the great spider down its route.

"It looked metal, captain," Tigerson remarked.

"I think so too," replied Liev,"sir, what is it?"

"I don't care what it is, I want it dead," Lystartro ran faster when he heard gunshots ahead. Running as fast as they could, they burst into the entrance chamber. Immediately Liev and Lystartro ducked down. Tigerson looked at the two men and followed their example.

The main door was open and two figures were leaning inside, lasguns in their hands, shooting in at random targets. Even as he jumped down, Lystartro heard a shattering blast and the battle intensified. He heard plenty of lasguns, but no deep chugging shots from the heavy bolters. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the spider, standing innocently behind a sandbag wall manned by 89th boys, all shooting at the door. Yes, it was a machine, dark purple with small details done in brass. It had six legs on its round body and was a little bigger than a dog. Lystartro pointed at it and just said, "kill."

He did not stay to watch. Lystartro leapt up and ran the short space to the nearest heavy bolter. He shoved aside the 89th boy who was fumbling with its trigger and unjammed the ammo belt that had been shoddily stuffed into the holy weapon.

"Feed it from the box and make sure the big girl doesn't jam!" Lystartro shouted, half to the boy he'd pushed and half to anyone else who might help him. He swiveled the great gun around to the door. The cause of the earlier blast was now clear: a crumbled hole was torn in the side of the wall, beside the door. Now a wide corridor opened into the hall and allowed these bandits entrance. Lystartro aimed and fired as the enemy, crouched amongst the rubble of the fallen wall or splitting off shots from around the wall. Explosive bolts slammed out from the great gun in short, bone breaking bursts. Both men in the doorway were shredded into red chunks of destroyed meat by the captain's deadly accuracy. When another man came into the doorway, Lystartro steadied his breathing, took aim, and let out a short burst. A bolt sledgehammered into the invader's head, bursting it into an organic red nova and toppling his headless remains to the floor. Lystartro cursed when more men came to replace the fallen. Lasrounds glanced off the sandbags he was behind and he ducked down.

Where was the spider-thing? He saw no sign of the machine, but he could almost taste the cold metal tang of its iron in his mouth. Or was that blood? Human blood, blood wasted killing these misguided attackers. Every shot taken here was a humiliation to his senses and every life lost was an insult to the Imperial Guard. Here they were, shooting at these madmen while there were still millions of orks to fight. The blood shed today not only would mark the death of one man, but paint this sewer home in the colour of failure. How dare he make this proud weapon throw death at fellow humans and how dare they come here.

"Emperor forgive me," Lystartro hissed in fury as he returned to the heavy bolter, which waited patiently for him against the storm of the firefight. Head low, Lystartro swept its burning muzzle from side to side, throwing bolts of metal death into the invaders. He did not see who he killed, if any, but could feel the lasrounds around him. Nearby, another heavy bolter began to roar: this one crewed by experienced 112th guardsmen. The barrage of explosive rounds was too much punishment for these gunmen to bear. Some were gruesomely ripped apart, their bodies emptying blood from open woulds like a slit water pouch gushed fluid. Twitching corpses and wounded, who's lives were mercilessly clinging to their shattered bones, lay in heaps where the heavy bolters left them. The few survivors broke at last, scuttling like rats from the holes they had made and into the sewers. The last of them ran, holding a dribbling stump that had once been his right arm. The gunshots ended and a thick silence prevailed.

Lystartro sighed with relief and then noticed his right shoulder had been clipped by a lasround. His uniform burned away in a small patch to show blackened, burned skin: an eternal reminder of this stupid firefight.

"Emperor damn…" Lystartro bit his lip, only now feeling the pain. "Someone get my some detox pads or anti-sceptic." He noticed a few other casualties among the 89th. One of his 112th boys had lost a finger to a round that had gone right through it and killed the lasgun it held.

"Will do sir," Liev went to get the requested items.

"Tigerson!" Lystartro shouted to the grim boy, "get Cav to count up the casualties, I want a full list of injuries." Tigerson swallowed, a sad look on his face. "Tigerson? I…" Lystartro knew that look. Back on Rynn's World, it was that face Frens had given him whenever someone suggested that Petro Kantor would rally the defenders to defeat the Waaagh during those first few weeks of battle. News of the destruction of the Crimson Fist's fortress monastery had spread really slowly. News of the chapter master's survival spread even slower. Today, the same look it meant a far less significant loss for the Imperium, but in this hole, it was a major loss for the captain.

"No," Lystartro spat under his breath. "Damn. And to some half-starved renegades too."

…

The last thing he remembered was crouching against a sandbag wall and reloading his lasgun. Then, he remembered a big metal spider jumping down beside him and then…pain. Pain in his neck. An arm with a needle on its tip hhad whipped his jugular. His hands froze up and his skin went numb. Cav felt the pressure of a thick rope of metal wrap around him like a sea monster's tentacle and hoist him atop the spider's head. Then…he was moving so fast, bumping up and down, a frozen prisoner of the leaping monstrosity. Then, he felt fainter and fainter, his vision going dark as the scampering machine fled out the door, carrying him into the hands of his newfound enemies. To be their prisoner, to be their victim, to be their slave. His imagination fed him many awful fates.

He blacked out.

A short dreamless sleep. Darkness and cold, lots of cold. Air and freshness, or was that the feeling of the outside? Where was he? Was he dead…?

"Is he awake?" asked one voice.

"Move aside." It was a girl speaking. "Please don't hurt him. We need him alive."

"Is he supposed to be out this long?" was it the same voice as before?

"Move," hissed a third voice. This one was scratchy, sharp and very unpleasant to listen to. That accent it carried, Cav did not know it. Surely it was the tongue of a daemon, to speak with the voice of a snake.

Cav opened his eyes, jolted awake by the sound of that voice, that terrible voice. His skin was tingling and he was light. Above him, the night sky looked down at him, dizzyingly vast. The cold air of the night tingled his restored nerves. The hard, jagged rubble he lay on, cold even through his uniform, hurt his back. Cav sat up.

There were nine people around him, dressed in commoner clothes. Two carried dim lanterns and all carried lasguns or smaller, cheaper guns. One was a girl around his age, slim and pretty, even with her hair cut to her scalp. He did not need to guess who had woken him with that cold voice.

He was a young man, pale skinned, with a hard, ruthless stare through bloodshot eyes. He wore a long black coat, with tight-fitting metal boots and gauntlets, suggesting he wore a metal suit beneath his coat. When he spoke, his lips revealed fangs. He wore a hood that clung to his head like a shadow. Apart from his short black hair on his head and eyebrows, this stranger had no hair anywhere else. All the other men had messy beards, but this man was shaven perfectly.

"He is the one, I promise you Sectraa," said one of the men, with messy black hair. The rugged brute was leaning on a scoped rifle with a wooden stock. "Check his tattoo." Sectraa? Was that his name? It was like no name Cav had ever heard. Cav shrunk before the gaze of the hooded man who stalked up to him and stared down into his eyes. Cav saw no humanity in this man, this pale Sectraa. Cav knew at once this man was the man Mhal had feared above the orks. The orks? What orks? The only danger Cav saw were these raiders, who eclipsed his futre.

"You are who we are looking for," Sectraa snarled, his voice as cold and binding as a shackle. Like saying those words would make it so. He raised one gauntlet and cruel talons extended from its fingers. Cav tensed as Sectraa leaned down to his shoulder and used his talons to shear off Cav's sleeve. He pulled the loose uniform off and smiled triumphantly at his tattoo. "Angelspear? Right boy?" Cav didn't speak.

From the shadows came the spider-like machine, that tackled Cav's chest and pinned him to the ground. Sectraa stood over him and slit a small patch of Cav's cheek open.

It hurt! It hurt! It hurt so much! Those talons had to be coated with venom to bring so much pain with one little laceration. Cav screamed, wanting the pain to go away. He heard the girl plead with Sectraa.

"Stop, we need him. You don't have to do that," she said.

"Angelspear, correct?" hissed Sectraa's offworld accent. Cav nodded gasping back his last scream and choking for air as the pain began to dull. He was left gasping.

"I'm Cavenner…Angelspear hill clan. Yes, I am Angelspear," he choked. The pain finally left and the spider-machine retreated. Sectraa gave the machine an appreciative pat before nodding to the others and pointing.

"Alright, let's get back to the temple," one of the bandits said. Cav was hoisted to his feet by a pair of these thugs and hurried along through the night. The girl, a little younger than he was, followed with him.

"You shouldn't be in PDF if you're Angelspear," she whispered. "You should be fighting for the clans, not for the offworlders. Oh, you're so lost. You poor soul." Cav blinked.

"You're Halivorians," he whispered, afraid someone might not want him talking. The girl nodded timidly.

"I'm with the Riverglade hill clan. Mobian and Snowbrow are both Riverglade too. So is Cralan over there. Harlian is from the Autumn Wind Country clan and everyone else is from Shallow Brooks." Indeed, Cav could see the Riverglade insignia tattooed on the girl's shoulder, beneath her torn jacket. He'd once seen it on a banner, when he was marching past Riverglade territory with his brothers. It seemed so friendly back then.

And the Autumn Wind Country clan, Cav thought they had pretty accents. He liked all the people he'd met from that clan just because of the way they spoke. Their cooking also fascinated him. Three of his brother's friends were hearthguard from that clan. And the Shallow Brooks hill clan, the largest of them all, Cav had met, and made friends with, a few of them when he was out trading with other clans with his family. These were all names he'd known and trusted all his life. Now here they were, twisted and poisoned by the tenants of Halivor and pointed against the Imperium.

"Are you alright?" the girl asked, "we're not going to hurt you…well, maybe Sectraa might if you give him trouble, but we're not. We just want your help, alright? Come on. You must have been one of us during the uprising. You're Angelspear." Cav didn't say anything, and the girl didn't speak further.

Perhaps it was his imagination, spurred into action at the uncertainty of what lay ahead, by as Cav was led further, he was sure he could see shifting shadows around them, lurking just beyond the lanterns on the very edge of sight. He was sure he was imagining it first, but the more he saw shifts of motion amongst the night's blackness, the more sure he was they were being followed by a handful of half-seen ghosts.

The hours of marching dragged by. Cav wondered if they were just going to walk all night. He wondered why they hadn't run into orks yet, but it seemed not matter how many kilometers of ruin they strode through, not a single greenskin ever appeared. The only company they had was the night, the silent ruins and the shadows who followed them, if they really existed. When Sectraa held up his hand after a truly long hike, Cav's legs were begging him to sit down. The whole group stopped and Sectraa walked out of the circle of light the lantern made and disappeared.

They waited for a few death-quiet moments for his return.

Sectraa shifted back out of the shadows and beckoned to one of the Halivorians. The man stepped over to him and Sectraa whispered instructions to him, gesturing one way, then pointed to Cav and gestured another way. The man nodded and Sectraa was gone, retreating back into the night.

"Okay," the man said, "Snowbrow, Mobian and Issinel, take the prisoner back to the outpost. Everyone else, follow me," he instructed. The girl, who the man had named Issinel, took a lantern and beckoned to the men escorting Cav. The four of them broke off from the main group and went down a gloomy street, lighting up grey rockcrete walls and empty windows with their lantern, before leaving them behind in shadow. Cav saw the road they walked on in a circle of light around their feet. This was an unusually intact part of Urbanis 1.

"In here," whispered Issinel, pointing to a squat, well-built structure that looked unharmed by the war.

If there had ever been any living shadows, haunting them on the way here, Cav did not see them as he was taken inside.


	11. The New Enemy

Issinel was 16 years old. Her favourite thing to do was carve wood (she had a collection of dolls she'd made herself). Her least favourite thing to do was cook because she lacked the skills. When the rebellion happened, her whole family left the Imperium to join Halivor's insurrection. Her three brothers joined Halivor's hearthguard and lost their lives fighting the Ersonian loyalists. Her father was arrested and shot. Only her mother and two sisters survived the war. Now, because of the orks, even they were gone. Snowbrow, the 31-year old light-haired man who had escorted Cav, had adopted her. Sitting inside the cellar of the place they had taken Cav, he and Issinel told each other about themselves, from who their parents were to their least favourite chores.

It was hard to think of her as his captor. Her golden-blonde eyebrows were always bent into some expression and she gestured wildly when she spoke. If it were Springfest or Emperor's Day, Cav might ask her to dance with him. The only thorn to her rose was her gun, which sat on her lap. The men had asked her to shoot him if he tried to escape before leaving. It had been several hours now and no one had come back. But in those hours, the gun had become a forgotten, unused thing that now sat unused across her lap. In time, Cav forgot he was a prisoner as he talked about himself.

"…so then at that point, Floria comes in," Cav continued.

"No way," laughed Issinel in anticipation of the story's funny conclusion. Cav chuckled as he recalled his most vivid memory of the incident.

"And the poor girl looks down at the cabin floor and sees Notren and she sees Gyellya. And she lets out the loudest scream you can imagine," Cav and Issinel shared a laugh. "And I jump in, hands like this, and I go 'Floria! Floria! I promise you, it's not what it looks like.' But I can't help it because I'm trying to keep myself steady." Issinel shook her head in amusement.

"Did she leave him after that?" she asked.

"No, Gyellya felt sorry for Notren and explained everything to a very shaken Floria that evening. But I was laughing about it all the way back to my clan's territory," Cav finished.

"Did Flora and Notren get married? Where are they now?"

"No, they didn't have time. Gyellya's still a maid and Notren…" Cav dismissed the memory. "So did you ever live through any funny love stories?"

"Those will wait!"

The light, friendly atmosphere of the room was stolen by a wash of cold air. Down into the little cellar came Sectraa, still hooded. The room was nicely lit, but everywhere he went seemed to grow darker. Cav saw Issinel look afraid for him as she stood unsteadily up and nodded to the walking shadow. Cav, sitting in a chair, didn't dare to move.

"Why is he not bound?" Sectraa hissed. Issinel shrunk under his stare. Her light, playful attitude gave way to soft, fragile weakness.

"I…I really didn't think he needed…" she shrugged and tried to lighten Sectraa's evil mood. "And I mean, it's just wrong. Little creepy for me to tie up a boy, you know?" Sectraa backhanded her cheek. Cav felt a strange sort of hatred, one he had not felt before. With just one cruel gesture, Sectraa had earned Cav's eternal disdain. Cav promised himself he would kill Sectraa, first chance he got, even if it killed him. He watched Sectraa glide over to Cav, Issinel's gun in his hand.

"You are going to help us, Angelspear." What sunless planet could produce a people with such an inhuman accent? "There is a door that only one of you can open. You will open it for us." Cav nodded. Anything to appease this awful man. He didn't want to see what else those talons could do. "It is a gate that is opened not by a key but by thought. Only a thought that truly wants to open the gate can." Sectraa pointed a finger at Cav. The talon unfolded and pricked the space between his eyes, softly, gently. His forhead began to tingle. "You must want to open the gate. It mustn't be forced."

"What gate?" whispered Cav.

"No questions!" shrieked Sectraa.

"The one by the mountain," said Issinel, "well…I mean, the Temple Guard resistance group, the group I am part of, found this gate in a hidden chamber deep inside a shaft on Angel's Peak. Sectraa thinks if we can open it, it will bring forth the angel of the Emperor to purge this world of orks and Imperials, to free the hill clans." Sectraa looked displeased at her but didn't say anything. "Come on Cav, you can open it to save Ersonia, can't you?"

Cav thought about the tattoo on his arm. That mountain, that angel. It and the things the tattoo stood for were closer to him than his skin. They were special, precious things he loved and admired. The angel's return was a wonderful fairytale to believe in. But to have it commanded by this monstrosity of a human being, this Sectraa? It stank of dead fish. Trickery was at hand. Even without Sectraa, how could the Emperor's greatest miracle be made manifest through the simple opening of a door?

"A gate?" he asked, "in Angel's Peak? No, can't be…" Sectraa's free hand clasped him by the throat.

"It is so," Sectraa hissed. "If you do not help me release the angel…" He brought his lips to Cav's ear, "I'll kill both of you. Issinel and you. Slowly. Deliciously." He pulled back to look into Cav's face. "Does that make you want to open my gate?" He grinned an evil grin, his pointed teeth showing. Cav knew he had little choice. "As the girl said, it will release the angel," he whispered menacingly. But how could Cav trust this man?

…

Only Osprey and Mhal were allowed to come on this rescue. Kins had objected to sending thirty of the 112th but Lystartro promised him they were on a mission of discovery, not just a rescue mission. When Kins himself volunteered to come along, Lystartro let him. He left the recovering Frens in charge of the base while they were gone. Arcantillius had also chosen to come.

"This is it," Mhal whispered, pointing down the street. It was an unusually intact street, given the rest of Urbanis 1's condition. There were plenty of buildings that were nearly untouched by damage. If there was a nest of humans out here, they could be found in here for sure.

"Alright," Lystartro loaded his shotgun and crept down one half of the street with his squad, Osprey and Mhal. Kins and Arcantillius led the other two squads down the other half of the street. "So where is it?" he whispered, in case orks, or Halivorians, were nearby. Osprey looked down the street through his rifle's scope and shrugged, but Mhal was more certain. His knowing eyes looked up and down the road, searching. It was the look of a hunter.

"Look for a short building with fewer windows, square. It is one of the Halivorians' outposts. My friends know it is where Cav is," Mhal promised. Lystartro nodded, his breathing calm, his muscles ready to snap into action. Instinct wasn't something they taught in basic. It had to be picked up with experience in the field, where the shots fired were real. This closed street was a good place for his shotgun. His finger was tense on the trigger, but it was too experienced to fire at anything but the enemy.

"There," whispered Osprey, "I see it, way down there." It was a long street and Lystartro could barely make out the building he meant. It matched Mhal's description. He looked to the other squads across they road, but they were out of sight, sneaking through the buildings instead.

Before Lystartro could give them the directions to the structure, there was a flurry of lasfire from the buildings. Immediately, Lystartro contacted Arcantillius.

"Contact?" Lystartro asked. His squad jumped inside the nearest building.

"Ye…es," buzzed Arcantillius' voice. "Can't see…t. Disappeared…not…"

"Hello? You're breaking up," Lystartro cursed. "They might be jamming us." Mhal nodded, his power sword drawn.

"They know we're here," Mhal sighed. "Osprey, keep the streets clean." Osprey was already looking out the window, his rifle raised.

"Should we go help them?" Osprey asked Lystartro. His answer did not come. Lasrounds and a few autogun rounds flashed from one of the buildings opposite and skipped into their side of the street. Osprey fired his rifle and reloaded, sliding the bolt to take his next shot.

"Three, up on that third floor," Osprey said. A few guardsmen joined him and returned fire. Lystartro cursed. All this gunfire would bring orks, not like a moth to fire, but like looters to an unwatched warehouse. They would come in a violent barrage of green bodies and violence.

"Away from the windows. Remember, the greenskins are still out there!" Lystartro called over the shooting. "Draw them in house to house where we might have a chance at going hand to hand." They all pulled back to the far wall of the room they were in. Lystartro pushed open a door and several men swept the room beyond, burrowing deeper into cover.

"No!" Mhal advised. "They could have this place rigged." He seemed to be afraid of something.

"Rigged? To what? To fall down?" asked Lystartro. They opened a door and were greeted by gunshots. Everyone jumped away from the door as bullets sprayed out. Lystartro aimed his shotgun and signaled a plan to the squad. The sergeant put everyone into position and they prepared to storm the room. One man drew a grenade, but no more.

A purple sphere of metal clanged into the room. The high-pitched whine it emitted got louder every second, telling everyone in the ubiquitous language of common sense that they'd better run. The Osprey and the squad dashed madly back the way they came. Mhal kicked the ball in through the door and ran to the far wall with Lystartro. A second later, there was a dim pop and a white smoke trailed out of the door and into the room.

"A smokebomb?" asked Lystartro.

"Not quite," replied Mhal. "One breath of that gas and you die." He pointed his power sword to the door. "Against the wall, gun ready."

In the smoke, Lystartro saw a man. He fired into the smoke but missed as the man vanished. Lystartro fired again. He heard gunshots come from the other room. Osprey and the others were under attack. They all were!

"AH!" two young gunmen, faces masked in rebreathers, barreled through the smoke, autoguns blazing. Lystartro fired twice, hitting the madmen both in the chest. Two more shots laid them down. They were dressed like commoners, but as crazy with bloodlust as an ork. They kept their madness in death, despite the bloody gauges Lystartro blew from their bodies. As he reloaded, a third man came in.

Was he a man? His skin was as pale as chalk and his teeth were sharp. A mutant! The name came to Lystartro's mind as he worked to reload. The hideous attacker wore black gauntlets, metal boots and a long black coat with a hood. He drew a jagged silver blade from his sleeve and held it out in some kind of attack stance. His weapon was a blade, not a sword. If not for his gauntlet, he'd be cutting his hand.

"Behind me," Mhal commanded.

"_Dressa sasra minssra!" _taunted the newcomer in a lightless accent that chilled Lystartro's blood.

"_Zesay rassek," _Mhal replied confidently. The two had a short, but fierce conversation. The newcomer seemed to be taunting Mhal and Mhal sounded outraged. Though the words were alien, Lystartro had an idea of what they were saying by their tone. From their voices, he gleaned that Mhal and this man knew each other. From where?

What did it matter? As a soldier, he knew the only thing that mattered in battle was violence! To hell with who he was. Lystartro was about to shoot, when the newcomer suddenly attacked.

Mhal ducked with grace as the newcomer's blade missed him by a hair. He danced around Mhal like smoke, assaulting him furiously. Mhal's swordsmanship kept him alive, deflecting and attacking whenever the stranger was clear. None of his hits scored, for the stranger was always retreating when Mhal attacked. They exchanged sharp words even as they battled, always in that different language. Lystartro fired his shotgun and saw the stranger flinch. Blood dripped down his side. Lystartro reloaded, but the stranger was retreating through the way he came, through the door. Mhal lowered his mask and went after him. Lystartro considered the merits of pursuing him, but ultimately did not abandon his squad. He ran back to them.

Three of them were dead, dismembered. Their killers were nowhere to be seen. The sergeant was shouting orders to his men as the took cover beside the walls and fired down a hallway. From two doorways in the hallway came gunshots, some kind of autogun Lystartro couldn't identify.

"What did the killing?" Lystartro demanded.

"These guys…they were too damned fast," gasped the nearest man, Husky. "So hard to see too." Lystartro peeked down the hall and caught a glimse of a bald, chalky man in a black coat with metal gloves and some kind of mask covering the bottom part of his face. Lystartro ducked back.

"I want a grenade down there…" he began, just as a circle of ceilng gave way.

He turned to see a human in grey come down land behind Husky. His hands carried blades like the one the stranger had. He grabbed the back of Husky's uniform. Both of them were reeled back up as if by a line, too fast for anyone to shoot. Husky screamed, but Lystartro couldn't do anything but hear the wet sounds of flesh ripping and bones breaking. Husky's screams of terror became wails of pain. Blood dribbled down and dribbled into crimson puddles on the floor. The screams did not abruptly end, but rather carried on, growing weaker and weaker, long after the last wet rip sounded.

"Damn it, what are these things!" someone cried.

"Get back," Lystartro ordered, "Back." His men shifted back. Before they could get out, another hole opened up and the grey man dropped down, blades up. Lystartro raised his gun, but the attacker was too fast. He flipped into the next room, lasbolts missing him. Three guardsmen chased after him. Lystartro came in behind him to find the next room empty. Where did he go? There was some furniture in here, desks and chairs, but nowhere to hide from a veteran guardsman's eyes.

"Get a grenade in here," Lystartro whispered, "he's still in here…"

From a shallow shadow in the corner, the man in appeared. He had been there the whole time, hidden so well that he seemed to come out of the shadow itself. His clothes changed from black to grey to match the walls. One of his blades opened up, unfolding a pair of prongs from its side to turn a knife into a fork, so this crazed freak could devour these guardsmen.

Lystartro, who had lived through the nightmare of Rynn's World when all seemed lost, who had dragged himself through unnumbered situations where death lurked under every rock, could not die so easily.

BANG! Not even the skill and speed of this killer could outrun Lystartro's reflex. A shell burst home into the man's chest, spraying black blood out his back. Only then, did Lystartro realize the man wasn't wearing anything except metal pants, fitted with mechanisms to help him jump. In that moment of truth, Lystartro saw the face of Mhal's enemy in clear light for the first time. The man's wicked eyes and razor teeth were leering evily at him even as his lifeblood gushed from the hole blown through his chest. His skin…it could actually chance colour. The slender man's streamlined shape was built for grace. And his ears, they were like arrowheads.

Lystartro had heard of these things before. Many campaigns had put him beside regiments from other places who had fought in wars he'd never heard of against creatures he had never seen. The stories those men told stuck with him, in case he ever needed their wisdom to survive.

"I've always wanted to kill one of you," Lystartro fired one more shot into the alien's face, ending it right there. In his mind, the puzzle pieces clicked together. Now he had a feeling he knew why Mhal's troops never took their masks off.

"That thing…" the sergeant stood beside him. "Captain, is that…?"

"Yes," Lystartro replied. "Get on the vox and tell Arcantillius that there are dark eldar in the area." The sergeant nodded and complied, taking his vox-set and trying to get through to Arcantillius. Lystartro prayed they would still be alive.

"Captain Arcantillius?" the sergeant asked. "Captain?"

"…ello…es I am here but you aren't too clea…"

"How…" he held the vox-set up higher. "How about now?" He shook the set, to awaken the machine spirit from its apparent slumber. "Hello? How about now?"

"Yes, I hear you," Arcantillius replied from the set. "Tell Lystartro if he's still there, that we've run into some shadow-people." There was still lasfire in the background.

"Yes, yes," Lystartro replied, "we found some too. We need to regroup and push on to the objective." He narrowed his eyes. "And find Mhal Dannit! He has some explaining!" Outside, the sound of dirty engines reached his ears. The distinctive heavy boom of ork weapons broke the air and a round exploded through the wall. The sergeant ducked down as a bullet grazed his shoulder. Lystartro ducked and readied his shotgun. "You hear that, captain?" Lystartro growled in frustration.

"Yep. I'm on it."

"See how many there are." Lystartro peeked out a hole in the wall. Squinting, he could just make out an orkish flatbed truck disgorging a mess of warriors. He couldn't spot an overall leader and Lystartro judged these orks to be younger ones, bullied into watching these ruins for human survivors. Good. Easy.

Lystartro's breath quickened when he saw one of them had a flamethrower. It hooted and jumped up and down as it sprayed an empty window with a liquid jet of bright orange fire.

A flamethrower. Uncontrolled fire, getting everywhere, burning and destroying. It bit into Lystartro's mind like a knife. Orks he could handle, rebels he could handle. Machine guns and bombs and cannons and nobs he could handle. So far, he was sure he could even handle the dark eldar. But not flamethrowers.

Lystartro clenched his augmetic arm and ran to the back of the room, peering gingerly into the room with his flame-scarred face.

"We have to get up onto higher levels where their flamethrower cannot easily hit," Lystartro explained. "Put lasfire down on them from above and force their gunners to aim awkwardly. Sergeant? Do it."

"Yes sir."

_Oil from his burning lorry, burning like fiery rain, dribbling down into his face. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop._

Lystartro took his squad up the stairs. They lined up against the windows and, as Arcantillius did the same thing on the other side of the street, fired down. All three squads poured lasfire down on the orks below. Lystartro clenched his teeth and fired shot after shot down at the flamethrower-ork, who shuddered with each hit. As its comrades took hits that burned or blasted bits of green meat off their chunky bodies, the ork swung the hose of his weapon around like a club. Dust flew up around him whenever Lystartro missed. The veteran captain lost count of his shots and tried shooting when his gun was empty.

CLICK

It made him feel like a recruit again. But the job was done and the ork fell, bleeding and twitching, the scorched animal furs it wore were ridden with shot. Lystartro calmly reloaded as the orkish truck's windows burst as it was covered in the dust from a pair of grenades going off.

The shooting settled as the last ork shuddered, grabbed its stomach, and fell.

But then the distant growl of more guttural, piggish engines stole their victory.

"Yeah, we gotta bug out," Lystartro admitted. "Arcantillius!" he said into the vox. "We have to collect Mhal before we go." The two began to work out a plan.

…

In the middle of a square of open land in the middle of a tall grey Urbanis 1 office, Mhal and Sectraa glared at one another. The dark eldar had fallen back but halted when he ran out here and saw there was no way out. Only the windows could save him. Mhal stepped towards him, sword raised. He could see Sectraa's grin from across the square.

_So much you'd do for this world_ taunted Sectraa _It's not worth it Mhal_

_We will not let you prevail here Sectraa _Mhal spat back, closing carefully, looking for an opening. _You're crimes will be avenged _Sectraa cackled.

_You're not one of us, human. You know your Alaitoc slavemasters use you like a tool, just as the Halivorians are ours _Sectraa answered. _You think those outcasts you live with are your family? You will never mean anything to them! _Sectraa weaved in and stabbed. Mhal deflected and cut down at Sectraa's throat as hard as he could. Again, the alien was too fast, dancing back, but cutting as he did. His sword tore into the sleve on Mhal's carapace armour, not quite cutting through it. Mhal came in for another attack but took a whipping kick to the gut. He staggered back, sword up to defend himself, but Sectraa was dodging off, weaving through the courtyard like a liquid shadow and sliding through the window.

Mhal took a second to catch his breath and began to pursue, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Three stormtroopers stood behind him, masked and anonymous.

_Sectraa went that way _Mhal pointed. He moved to pursue, but one of the troopers stopped him.

_Don't _the false stormtrooper said _He will likely lead you into an ambush. There are kabal warriors all over these ruins. They will have taken Cav up to the mountain already. We must stop them at the mountain _Mhal nodded.

_Mhal, I foresee a day coming soon when the skies will open and many thousands of Imperial troops will storm Urbanis 1, where we are, to try and slay Skullkicker. I am afraid I cannot destroy all their vox-casters. We must fade away and confront the kabal by Angel Peak. If there are any loyal to you in the 112__th__, take them. I fear we will need as many warriors as we can get if we are to stop Sectraa and his Halivorian dupes _

_Yes farseer_

…

Curth looked up from his hand of cards as Mieel stepped into the mess hall. Josahik asked him what he was looking at, before following his gaze. Soon, the other three players were looking. Then, all the 89th boys were watching Mieel tiptoe across the floor and over to Curth. Frens, the only 112th in the room, said something under his breath, but he looked pleased to see his fellow wounded was back on his feet.

"So, the little squirt is back up," Tigerson muttered. "Look out, he might wanna cuddle you again." The table laughed at Curth. Curth could deal out insults and teases, but he was bad at receiving them.

"Shut up," Curth replied, making a fist. It was a habit of his. "What's up, Mieel?" The timid young trooper looked around nervously. His arm was still bandaged from when Frens had located and removed a strange "tracking device" from Mieel, which had somehow told the Halivorians where Mieel was. "Mieel? You wanna play?"

"No, he's not playing with my cards," Tigerson growled in his ganger tone. Curth wished Mieel would stop staring at him like that.

"Mieel? Whatchya want?" Curth looked around the room. "Hey, what are you folks all looking at?" A few heads turned away. He looked back at Mieel.

"I can't find Cav, so…so I came to say sorry," Mieel said. "I…um, the thing in my arm, I'm sorry it got there. Didn't know what it was." Mieel was as stupid as a board. He wouldn't know what it was unless someone told him. "So say sorry to Cav when you see him."

"So you're finally talking?" Tigerson asked. "What? The thing that made the rebels attack us, keeping you quiet?" Mieel didn't answer. "So I've been dying to know, what was it that attacked your hole that night before you disappeared? Killed those poor guys?" Mieel's lip quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut and plugged his ears. A few jeering laughs sounded all around. Curth smiled a bit, but only a bit.

"Was it a big scary machine-spider?" Tigerson asked.

"Big…big…!" Mieel jumped and spread out his arms to emphasize his description. "Real big. A big monster that could fly. A big flying scorpion with claws. It poked me in the arm, gave me that device. Killed. It was...it was so big"

…

_We know the dark kin have at least one talos _the farseer said. Mhal nodded, remembering Mieel's drawing. _If they have a significant enough presence to field such an advanced thing, there may be more than a few handfuls of the dark kin upon this planet. _Mhal and the others turned to head back inside.

The rattle of crude gunfire broke through the air. Several windows broke. They all jumped to the floor in alarm, those who had guns raised them up. Even the farseer flinched when a door was thrown off its hinges and a rocket-mounted ork, a so-called "rocket-berzerker" barged through, blazing shots from a wrist-mounted blaster. Mhal rolled aside as shots struck the ground near him. The false stormtroopers fired as quickly as they could. The ork's horned helmet melted down the center when a shot struck it, but the brute did not die until a shot struck it right thorugh its war-tormented brain. The sizzling alien crumpled to the dirt.

They stood up just as two groups burst into the courtyard. On one side, a few more orks leapt through the door and out the windows. Behind Mhal, Lystartro, Osprey and Arcantillius joined them, sixteen men at their backs. Lasfire from the guardsmen and the stormtroopers was overwhelming. Windows melted, ork flesh was blown off the bone, small orange holes appeared in their crude armour plating and blood dribbled down their green flesh. They cracked off heavy shots as they were smote by the storm thrown their way. Mhal grinned as the last one fell. Now, they could go after Sectraa.

_Isha's tears… _cursed one of the two who escorted the farseer. Mhal felt his heart grow heavy as one of his stormtrooper-clad comrades dropped. Not the farseer, but a single life lost to these aliens was an insult. The fountaining red on his carapace armour was the sign of a mortal blow. Rivers of red fountained down and into the thirsty ground.

_Who is that? _Mhal asked, crouching over the figure. _Siqu'ey? Is that you?_

"What the hell are they saying?" he heard one of the guardsmen whisper. There was little point hiding it now that the word of the dark kin was surely out.

_S…S…Sorry my b…brother _Siqu'ey apologized. His heavy breathing softened.

_I'll take you back home when we're done with this evil place, I promise _Mhal said solemnly to his dying friend.

"Mhal!" Lystartro barked. "What are you saying to that man?" Mhal looked up at the captain and pointed at Siqu'ey.

"A dying man's last words are in his native language…"

"Why didn't you tell me about the eldar?" asked Lystartro. He looked from the farseer to the surviving man. "Maybe you feared one of us might suspect something if you told me about them, right? Hm? Or you hoped to do your stuff in secret? Now that he's dead, you wouldn't mind if I took off his mask." Mhal leaned down and cut open the pocket on Siqu'ey's breast, revealing a compartment in his carapace armour that contained his spiritstone. "What's that?" the captain asked as Mhal collected it.

"Sentimental relic," Mhal replied. "We've got to get inside." The others were thankfully willing to follow those words. They ducked indoors. Straining his ears, he could hear shooting in the distance. Had the others shown up to confront the dark kin, or was that all ork against Halivorian? They settled down with the rest of the squad, who watched the streets. The evidence of battle scarred the road. A burning truck and a handful of slain orks lay haphazardly on the road.

"So why didn't you tell me about the eldar?" asked Lystartro again. Mhal rolled his eyes.

"Because I couldn't confirm what I thought and didn't want to start rumors. But they are what I have taken your two companies on to combat. Like I said, they have captured Cav and are taking him…" Mhal was interrupted, not by Lystartro, but Arcantillius. The normally astute officer was red in the face and barking.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" Arcantillius roared. "How dare you infringe on my authority and direct my men to their deaths!" Lystartro joined in.

"Are your men eldar?" Lystartro looked at them and pointed to their masks. "Huh? Are they? Some of your pale cousins are kicking around so you's want to kill them all. I mean, I know what the eldar are supposed to be like. You trying to make us your puppets? You act just like them." Mhal chuckled.

"Do I look like an eldar to you?" Mhal knew he was backed into a corner. A confession would have to come.

"You think I don't know what that crystal you took off the dead guy was? It was a spiritstone," Lystartro whispered sharply. Checkmate.

The farseer raised his mask.

"My name is Kiskantsh," the pale farseer said. A few men gasped at the farseer's hairless, ageless face and his tattoos. Osprey, who had known the secret all along, shrunk away into a corner. "Our enemies are the same, human. If you would raise arms against us, you would make enemies of those who would help you. Our dark kin threaten your world and we hold the key to your survival." Lystartro's mood seemed to lighten. While his men drew back in shock, he began to laugh slightly.

"So I guess Mhal isn't your glory-boy sergeant after all, mister Piss-catch," Lystartro snorted. He gave an exaggerated shrug. "So, I don't get it Mhal. You're not really one of them, are you?"

"I don't have to be," Mhal replied. "If you're going to kill us, please. But only we know how to combat the dark kin…I mean, the dark eldar." Arcantillius pointed at the farseer.

"So he's your real leader?" he asked, still angry.

"I am, human," replied Kiskantsh. "The dark ones want something in your mountain. I do not know what precisely, but Mhal and I have the experience to deny it to them when they find it. Murdering us would be unwise." Around the room, the shocked guardsmen were losing their fear. They didn't even seem to hear the shooting in the distance.

Then suddenly, the shooting was right there with them. A swift ork four-wheeler zoomed down the street. When one of the guardsmen took a shot at it, the vehicle wheeled around to shoot back. The guardsmen were stunned, but Mhal and the two eldar were in the next room. Two smoking rockets shot from the vehicle and at the guardsmen. All seemed lost for them.

By the power of the farseer's mind, both rockets were twisted around and shot over the road, exploding into the buildings opposite. The vehicle's driver shot into the window with his massive pistol, but the guardsmen were gone, fleeing deeper into the building with Mhal. The driver drove on, but there was no respite.

"Greenskins!" Kiskantsh warned, "I hear them!" he pointed an ancient finger down the hall leading deeper into the building, the way they had originally come. When the first ork appeared, waving a cleaver and a pistol, the guardsmen all shot it at once, blasting it onto its back. The second one showed more sense and fired from around the corner, but the imperials and the eldar had already taken cover. A grenade was lobbed down to the end of the hall. Ork cries sounded when it went, covering the end of the hall in violent dust. When the explosion settled, one more ork came. Osprey put it down in one shot with a bullet to the head. After it, no more aliens came.

"We can't get the young human now," Kiskantsh continued, "but we can go to the mountain and stop my dark kin there. Again, I remind you…"

"That you're the best bet when it comes to the shadow people?" asked Arcantillius with a groan. "Alright, alright. Damn you eldar. Why do I have to be a heretic today?" He kicked the floor.

"I don't know, if we get the job done, it might be admissible in the Emperor's eyes," said one trooper.

"Why not?" asked another. Lystartro nodded. Mhal knew he was an experienced solider. A man like him would know the value of an ally, no matter who they were.

"Very well," Lystartro said. "I'll forge my way back to the Water Dogs with first squad. Osprey, with me. Keep in touch with vox." Mhal felt some sympathy for Lystartro. It was a long way back.

"Good," Kiskantsh said after Osprey had left with the captain and one squad. "We lay low until the orks are gone. Then, we make for the mountain."

…

It was nighttime.

This was one of a number of raids done to soften the landing zone and draw Skullkicker out of his hole for the raid. They were fine pilots from the world of Masouel. Their machines were vulture gunships with a crisp black coat for these night raids. Star Leader flashed ahead of Star Wing, its turbine screaming up a storm in the stillness of night. Their objective was a tall, orkified building. Lastar Akkam, the pilot of Star Leader, knew the building top to bottom. Behind him, the other three vultures of Star Wing were steeping the kilometers by on their mission of demolishion-assassination. A flight to blow up a ruin. This was the kind of mission command handed out to the underdog pilots, the novices, the pukes.

Pukes: an insult Lastar had picked up from another aviation regiment he had spent time around earlier in his career. What were their names again?

"Watch your radar," Lastar spoke into the vox channel. "I don't want no damn crashes between here and home." He looked down at his controls, spread before his seat. His eyes firmly forward, he looked at the lights indicating his rockets.

"Rockets are lit," Lastar said. "ETA to target: five minutes."

"Copy leader." The slurred voice of Star-One's pilot, Yusalf, spoke up.

"Star-One, Star-One, contact, contact, contact, I've got something on my scans," he said in alarm. Lastar looked out across the landscape through his goggles. The night-blackened city was hazy with green and white through his vision goggles. Any ork fliers would show up on his heat vision for sure. They'd have to be behind him.

"Confirm Star-One, you have contacts on what bearing?" Lastar asked, taking sideways glance at his fuel supply. His own radar showed nothing. "Star-One, degrees and altitude…"

Even through the canopy of his cockpit, he heard the explosion. The startled squadron swerved around to see the burning remains of Star-One flaking apart as it swerved on a disasterous fall towards Urbanis 1 below.

"No ground fire," Star-Three said. "What the hell…" From the wreck of Star-One came, of all things, a flying ork. But what an ork! Star-Leader's heavy bolter spat rounds at the huge alien, but the beast was shooting off, flying under them with his rockets.

"Big ork!" cried Laster. "Engage! Engage! Take him down!" The vultures tried to bring their noses to bear on the target who had just flown under their ships. What little radar signature the huge ork gave said he was right under them. Right under…

"Star-Three! I'm hit!" As Star-Three twirled to the ground, its left wing, shaved off, Star-Two was hit by a flurry of rockets that came from a bright speck on the edge of Lastar's vision. In a blaze of fire, the vulture fell, smoking and dying, to join its brothers, now bonfires among the ruin. Laster, his heart racing, turned his vulture to confront the ork and signaled for his gunner to shoot on sight, but the ork was gone: flown underneath them.

"Where is he!" Lastar screamed in frustration and fear. The ork could fly on his rockets, sure, but he was so fast!

Then, there he was, just on the edge of Lastar's vision. The ork had flown up alongside his vulture and tore through the turbine. Warning lights went off and the craft shook. Lastar couldn't tell what was going on. So much noise, so much shaking. Was he going down?

He looked up in time to see an ork, far larger than any ork he had ever known, flying straight for his canopy, a blazing rocket on his back. No, three rockets, three rockets for an ork that big. Lastar didn't spot more, for he did not have time.

The ork collided with the canopy, its outstretched foot smashing through the glass, kicking Lastar's skull. Lastar's head burst like a blister, the ork's boot mashing it against the back of the cockpit. The doomed vulture fell from the sky to join the bright wrecks on the ground.

Flying over them, briefly visible in the fires of his work, was their monstrous killer. He was only just visible in the weak light like a shark just below the water. He was not some random berzerker nob, but the warboss of the waaagh himself. Huge ivory fangs, dripping with drool showed when the ork's dark face grinned. In the flicker of the fire coming from the wrecked flight, the ork's yellow eyes shone like coals. Pistons hissed as the monstrosity flexed its great metal claws.

And then Skullkicker was gone, soaring back down to rejoin his waaagh.


	12. Raiders of All Colours

"…he said he could forge his way to the mountains and get a head start," Lystartro replied. "Once the raid happens, we can direct troops to move in to support him or else make our way there on our own." Around the mess hall, the troops were still coping with the news. The Water Dogs, who had just been released, were equally as shocked as the guardsmen. Xenos in their midst was a difficult thing to imagine. But no one seemed angry. Like him, they understood the value of an ally in warfare.

Frens was fully healed. At last, his company could have its lieutenant back. He was sitting this meeting out, insteady taking time to practise with his bayonet skills in another room, to make sure his body hadn't forgotten since his injury. Kins stood behind an empty space on one of the mess hall tables, arms crossed and face shadowed by his visor. He looked like he was at a tribunal. If anyone looked unaccepting of Mhal or the eldar, it was him. He hadn't spoken yet.

"So when this raid comes sir, how are we going to get attention?" asked Kins, his voice full of demand.

"Our short-range vox should be able to send and receive on the raider's frequency," replied Osprey. "I'll take a few guys up top and try to get in touch with them." Yueka put up her hand.

"I'll totally go with that," she said. "In case anything or one gives you flak."

"Who else is god with the vox?" asked Osprey.

"I am," Lystartro replied, "and I am a voice of authority. Curth and the 89th can provide some guns, in case we're attacked. I'll go with you…"

"Me too," Kins said suddenly, his sharp voice reflecting his dark mood. "I am a much different kind of authority." He pointed to Frens. "He can babysit the others."

"If the orks come out to counter the raiders and block our advance on the mountain with their numbers, we'll pull a Porto Kalis, alright 112th?" Lystartro's command was answered by a chorus of affirmatives from his men. He saw Osprey lean in to one of the 112th sergeants and ask him something. The guardsman whispered something back.

"A subtle, fighting advance, like what we did to get from Porto Kalis to New Rynn City, back during the Snagrod invasion," the sergeant said.

"And I don't want any blasted heroes. We all work together to get the rest of us to that mountain. If Mhal is as good as his master said, the eldar should have the whole game figured out by then," Lystartro finished.

"Didn't he say something about a walker, guarding something in there?" Osprey asked.

"Yup," Lystartro replied. "But I dunno if even the eldar know what." Lystartro didn't say it, but he had a feeling they did know. It had to be a temptation of power that the eldar didn't want any dumb imperials getting their paws on, perhaps so they could take it for themselves?

There was no time to puzzle that out. As the meeting broke.

…

Nighttime came to Urbanis 1 and all was quiet, at first. The stars shone brightly and the air itself seemed asleep with peace. But this night was different. Up in the sky, amid the display of stars, a new constellation hung overhead. It was a vast V and the bright, white stars that made it were moving rapidly across the sky. They were not stars however, but gunships, whose bright engines propelled them towards their objective. The horrors of the night commenced when the calm of the night air was brutally awoken.

In the distance, the manmade thunderclaps of falling bombs trembled through the air. On either side of the flight of gunships were several flights of bloated Imperial Navy bombers, dropping their rounded cargo down in sporadic streams to the wasteland below. The night was lit by the strobing flashes of exploding bombs, which created enough light to outline half-visible fixed-wing silhouettes high up in the night.

From the flight of gunships came a gas-tailed rainstorm of fat rockets. The slammed into the tortured soil below them, causing further destruction in the already immeasurable damage to the city. Flaming blossoms leapt up, throwing light across the world of Essendrav grey.

Coming in behind the gunships, swarming like gnats, came the body of the raid.

Swooping flights of grey and white valkyries were the first to touch down, their black markings distinctive in the fires of the rocket impacts. Squads of black-clad guardsmen jumped out, securing a perimeter for the next wave of drops.

Somewhere down there, amidst the dozens of valkyries who were hammering themselves down onto Urbanis 1 like a grey snowfall, a pair of guardsmen swept their sights over a fallen hab unit with their night goggles. A startled ork stomped out of the door, his sheet-metal suit screeching with every step, squinting in the darkness, firing blindly into the shadows with his stubber. One of the guardsman fell back as a lucky shot ripped through his heart.

First blood to the orks.

His surviving comrade leapt back, shooting precisely into the ork's squinting eyes. Three more men joined in to help him bring the beast down. A shot tore through its skull and it crumpled. Now, the raid was on.

Around the scene, gunshots ripped out of the darkness as more blind orks stumbled out of their lairs, trying to find the fight they heard in the dark. Ork vision suffered worse than a human's in this light. Whole mobs of orks stumbled like drunkards into gunlines, then were mowed down with ease by disciplined vollies. One young trooper, jumpy and nervous as he swept one hab block for aliens, was startled when a bellowing ork carrying a large hammer barreled out of the wall, crashing right through it. Though they were short meters apart, the ork was swinging blindly around the room, trying to find the human he'd heard come in. The startled trooper did not shoot. His friends behind him did the work for him. Before this raid ended, this timid young man would be shot by a commissar.

The night was alive with gunshots now. Through the dark, guardsmen stalked blind orks. Grenades blew orks out of their holes. Lasguns cut them down. Indiscriminate ork shooting fared even worse than normally. For some, this was the best fight they'd ever had against the greenskins.

Bulky troopships, like flying beetles, came down next. They landed in the middle of the rings of valkyries. Assault ramps licked open and heavier equipment swept forth. Sentinels charged forth to add their heavy guns to the perimeter. Flame tanks came out next, followed by the unmistakable shapes of the Leman Russ battletank. From smaller ramps came rivers of fighting men, their booted footfalls making the ramps ring, as officers ordered them into position. A few flares were cast out into the night, illuminating the crumbled scenery a ghostly white that abruptle ended into an inky darkness wherever the flare's light did not reach. In the light of the flare, the proud green and gold flag of the Chazzan Cityguard was seen billowing in the cool night, held aloft by a charging guardsman.

More assault ramps opened and more men came forth. The colours of the Ersonian PDF bled down to intermingle with the grey and black Chazzans. In one place, a company of men, whose feral homeland was dominated by mounted warlords, threw their faces to the sky and howled a primitive warcry before they charged the darkness. And from one ship, came a column of Morchaghan troops and their attached Ersonian elements.

…

Mehzner and the nine others from his squad hurried around the corner, their night goggles letting them see all. This was a large warehouse that the good sergeant believed should be searched for nests of greenskins. The black facemask of the sergeant showed no sign of his searching expression when he looked in at the main storage room and saw piles and piles of heaped crates. With a gesture, he directed his men in. Lasguns raised, they were ready to…

A slender shadow dodged across his vision, but just for a moment. But there it was, between those crates. Mehzner pointed it out, his gun raised.

The door behind them slammed shut. His squad took a startled look, but saw no one there to have closed it. By then, it was too late.

Purple beams of light shot out from above a pile of crates. Mehzner caught a glimpse of a sniper, who was gone in an instant. The beams exploded through two of his men, bursting their bodies apart into bloodless ash. As it flew out, even the ash was disintegrated, boiled away, by the light. Only boots remained of two of Mehzner's squad.

"Back!" Mehzner shouted. These weren't orks!

The door behind them shot open. Two pale-faced men, their stingy black hair drawn behind their head, appeared. Their bizarre jagged guns rattled a wicked, liquid sound before they jumped back. Mehzner and his men fired at them, only to be caught from behind by that sniper and his awful gun.

"They're all around us!" one man cried before a shot disintegrated him. What was going on? These weren't orks!

Mehzner and his last surviving squad mate jumped into the maze of boxes to take cover. Amidst the empty boxes, they came face to face with a masked helmet, shaped like a snarling monster from a lunatic's nightmare. They didn't have time to raise their guns as hooked blades shot into their guts. Even if he couldn't see the black-armoured fiend's evil eyes, Mehzner knew he was grinning as he drove his two blades into the humans.

"When the rest of the kabal arrives, we will strip your world empty," a sneering voice hissed from behind that mask. His blades came out and shot across their necks.

…

The overall chaos of the scene was deceptive. What Stolce was watching was actually a very precise manuver being put into place. As the advance troopers cleared the perimeter, the men from the larger troopships were forming a steel ring, in the center of which would be dropped the command centre and the fuel dumps.

"89th!" Stolce confidently shouted to his detachment, seventy boys strong, "just like we practiced. Come on!" They ran after the Morchaghan company, leaping over piles of rocky rubble or twisted metal and flopping up beside them against a ridge of Urban destruction that lay visible from the flare. Stolce had to squint to keep the glare from hurting his eyes as he aimed into the shadows. All the while, his ears rung with the shouts of guardsmen. He heard the lieutenants under captain Sage shout orders to him.

"Spread out! Guns up!" A clanking sentinel stomped past them as Stolce tried to shout over the commotion. Out in the night, there was so much gunfire, broken by the loud shouts of the bigger guns. He hoped they were outgoing shots. "89th, advance!" Stolce and his boys rose up at his order and walked forward, forming a small part of a much larger band of infantry, advancing into the ruins under the watch of a layer of sentinels behind them. Stolce's gun was one of hundreds raised. He felt proud, larger and part of something important. This was not like his first sorry encounter with orks. Here, he was doing his duty and doing it well.

A round of artillery erupted in the flare-lit ground before him. The fountain of dirt and dust did make him jump, but he did not feel greatly afraid. So many comrades at his back, Stolce felt immune.

"Auspex has contact!" bellowed a deep-voiced Chazzan. "Guns up! Incoming!" The whole line halted. Contact? With what? Stolce's firm heart, hardened by days of fighting since that first terrible raid, felt shifted by fear.

He waited, watching the shadows beyond the flare. All around him, the sound of gunfire intensified while an undercurrent of alien yells poisoned his hearing. He couldn't even hear the trucks approach.

Bursting through the night, erupting like a leviathan from the sea, came four ramshackle trucks, festooned with bones and attractive scrap. Their bold lights hurt Stolce's eyes more than the glare. He could barely make out writhing aliens loaded into the back, spilling out over the side. The roaring faces of goggled drivers peered from over those white lights. Parts of the line broke when they saw the trucks coming their way.

The sentinels behind them opened fire. Hot, thick laser beams tore into two of the trucks. Fire burst from both as the two came to a gradual halt. Orks spilled out from them, so many. So many. How could they hold so many orks? The third truck ploughed into the line of guardsmen. Stolce actually heard bones break while it broke through like a bullet through flesh. Twitching men hung from its spiked hull as it carried on. By now, it was on fire, having come under the sentinel's laser blasting wrath. But it did not stop. It careened over a pile of debris and overturned, knocking a sentinel over and crushing its legs. Stolce saw the truck's driver jump out, hooting with laughter at the insane violence he had caused.

"Fight!" Sage's voice called over the din. Stolce didn't need to be told that. The orks from the trucks were coming at them now, either rushing them headlong or shooting from behind rubble. The line fell back into cover, behind ridges of ribble, in craters or from around lonely walls, cracking lasbolts into the orks. A few slow or unlucky guardsmen were brained or riddled with ork bullets. One man tried to defend himself with his lasgun as an ork fell on him with a cleaver. The ork opened him from chin to groin with the blow, which clove his lasgun clean in two. Stolce could see the dark blood dripping down in the light of the dying flare and the fire.

In the bad light, he saw the orks who had charged them reach the guardmen, hacking and killing as they went. Humans were torn apart like wet paper. Focused, determined lasfire was bringing them down fast, but the fearless mob still killed before they themselves were slain. It was the ork lifestyle in moments: fight and kill all you can regardless of danger, then be killed yourself. Only their covered brethren remained. Laserfire from the sentinels burned through the rocks and scrap they crouched behind, blasting ork flesh off the bone and leaving smouldering corpses.

"Behind us!" a few men shouted, albeit, using different words. Stolce turned from the lip of the crater he hid in and saw the chaos of the rest of the scene.

Orks were coming at the landing from all directions. Their trucks were lighting the night with their wrecks, but stomping, hollering orks were still pouring forth from them. The imperial line was still holding. Platoons were fighting according to the plan and not disappearing beneath the violence, but the enemy was still there, coming out of the shadows on foot or in trucks. The tanks Stolce saw were occupied with hurling shells into the scrappy ork four-wheelers that exploded at random from the dark or laying chugging bursts of explosive bolter fire on knots of aliens wherever they might be. They were holding for now, but there were deaths. Parts of human bodies lay wherever there were fallen orks. Yes, there were definitely casualties.

"Boys!" Stolce shouted to his beloved 89th, "watch our backs!" He took careful aim at an ork with a topknot as it jumped out of the darkness, waving an axe and shooting randomly with its heavy pistol. He fired as carefully as he could and when it went down, he congratulated himself on the kill, even if there were other men firing at it. Around him, the band he had been a part of was not just shooting at what was before them, but also at those orks who had gotten behind them too. And there were many. Ploughing trucks that roared past imperial troops as they died vomited out many barbarians from their fat cargoholds.

The whole furious scene was awash with gunfire and alien roars. The fight lost all coherency. There was no plan but to sit down and shoot. Glowing ork rounds flew over his head. Fanged alien warriors rushed around in mobs on all sides, blasting at the guardsmen with whatever crude guns they had. More ramshackle fighting vehicles popped out of the darkness to unleash hissing rockets onto the imperials. At some point, Stolce saw one of their flametanks explode, hit by a rocket. The silhouettes of burning guardsmen writhing around it was a scene from hell. Stolce couldn't see their faces, but it stuck with him all night.

There were enough fires now to give the whole fight its light. Over two score fiery wrecks provided the killing with a sun by which to fight. The light attracted orks like moths and prolonged the carnage.

"Got one!" laughed one of Stolce's 89th. Who? He didn't care. He slammed a new power pack in and tensed as a growling, spitting ork halftrack zoomed out of the dark in front of them. It ran over the dead from both sides and launched a spray of bullets at his crater. He ducked down to the crater's bottom. A loose body in an 89th tumbled after him, its head shot off, adding to the long dynasty of dead boys Stolce had seen during his time in Essendrav. He had long since gotten used to it. He didn't even check to see who it was as he returned to the crater's lip, in time to see the halftrack blown from existence. Dark scrap cartwheeled from the explosion that claimed it. Heads ducked to avoid the stinging shrapnel. Stolce took aim and added his shots to the vollies that sliced down the knot of orks who emerged from behind it. These orks, in contrast to some of the others, seemed directionless. They didn't immediately fire back when the humans began to kill them. A few turned and ran for the shadows. Some stumbled alone towards the guard in cover and shot off their feet. A sentinel's chugging cannon blew the remaining three into chunks of green meat, that roasted in the fire of the burning trucks.

What was that?

Calm. There were still some gunshots, but the orks had stopped coming and their voices were silent. Stolce wiped sweat off his brow. It sure was hot here. He sat back and caught his breath. They had fought and held the line. He knew though the orks would be back. They had only retreated to regroup, probably under Skullkicker: their target.

Stolce thought of Skullkicker as a version of Curth the bully, but infinitely worse than any human could be. That's what Skullkicker was: a huge bully. And they were its victims.

The real fight was only beginning.

Stolce was asleep when the mobile command centre touched down with the supply ships.

…

Osprey slowed his breathing and fired. The driver of the warbike snapped his head back as the bullet found his brain. The lonely ork's bike rolled a few more meters and fell into a crater, sending the dead ork against the handlebars. This was the third time this morning they had to duck down to let an ork pass, but this was the first time he had actually shot the alien.

"Out," Osprey whispered after a minute. The 89th, Lystartro and Kins appeared out of the ruins like rats in uniforms. He returned to the vox-set. Moments ago, he had found the right frequency, though it was proving hard to get any help from the raiders, who had arrived three kilometers north sometime last night. They just kept telling him to "come in and help," but also to take cover because they'd be shelling the surrounding regions.

…

Through the air, the growling alien flew. This ork had no name except "you's." It was born in a moist part of a kill kroozer. This planet was the first place it had set foot onto. As its rocket propelled it towards the humans, it rattled off shots from the gun it had salvaged off the battlefield, while shrieking unintelligibly with the lust for battle.

Seconds later, a lashing spray of laser blasts streaked across the part of sky it soared through. The orks rocket exploded, shredding the remains of it to the tempest of the battle-filled air.

This was the second attack that had happened since touching down. It was even bigger than the first, with tanks and sentinels stalking far ahead of the main guard forces to hunt and pick off orkish vehicles. Mobile platoons shadowed these sentinels, blasting down any orks they saw from around the sentinel's feet or tank's treads. Behind them, by the landed troop transports and command centre, rocket-berzerkers were swooping down on the entranched defenders in violent flocks. Behind the protective transports, long-nosed guns launched shells into the ruins, directed by airbourne spotters. While alien infantry and the odd war machine smashed into the Imperials, these guns ceaselessly turned out shots onto the destroyed city, their shoots leveling ork strongpoints nestled amid Essendrav. Hundreds of orks were killed and scores of orkified structures were flattened. The target of the raid was still to be accounted for.

Amongst these brave infantry who held the line around the guns, there were no deserters. There was nowhere to run to. Orks, who had escaped the advance parties, slipped in from all directions. More than any other, rocket-berzerkers rained down. Guardsmen were crushed by landing orks, eviscerated or blown away by their weapons, or decapitated by their blades. But no man was wasted and every man died fighting. Ork dead were growing heavier. Dozens of rocket-berzerkers were clipped from the sky or blown into chunks of green meat and metal scrap by the accuracy of the heavier Imperial guns.

And the artillery still did not stop.

…

Stolce ducked down with his squad as three more orks appeared in the hab before them and opened fire. Steady Morchaghan lasbolts flashed into those windows like a verticle rain of red, bright death. Stolce saw a great horned shadow fall in the windows and the orks went silent. They broke cover and crept through the wartorn streets of these hab blocks. These square habs must have been the most boring place in Essendrav before the war. Now, war wounds had given these unimpressive buildings some character. Stolce walked through the hole left by a fallen wall and onward through the streets.

Behind him, he heard someone vox the punisher they (the 89th, the 112th and the so-called 783rd Chazzan Cityguard) were escorting. The tank ground up after them, its round, multi-barreled cannon looking ominously deadly in the morning light, its shining gunmetal colour the brightest thing on the black and grey Chazzan tank. With a sprut of flame from its side sponsons, it cleared a hab that carried signs of orkish habitation. Its escort: a nimble Chazzan sentinel, stalked behind it on its chicken legs.

The group crept forth carefully, eyes on the windows, listening for the greenskins. Stolce signaled for his men to stay close to the habs and out of the open in the street. He had a feeling…

Yes! Just as he moved, ork machineguns raked the ground. Three Chazzan guardsmen dropped backwards, bleeding out. The Morchaghan veterans and their less experienced Chazzan comrades shot back at that tall spire, standing there above the habs. The muzzle flashes of crude ork guns were blazing away. It was so far! Lystartro had said they couldn't aim! Not even Stolce could make a good shot.

The sentinel stalked around the punisher to spot the tower and raised its lascannon. A short pause followed as the pilot aimed. Then, the cannon flashed once. Just once. The orks stopped and Stolce saw smoke come from the tower. But there was no time to celebrate.

Suddenly, there were orks appearing out of alleyways in the street before them: great scarred aliens in buly metal or cloth armour, adorned with fleshy trophies, attractive scrap or alien glyphs. These were not the bright green young orks Stolce preferred to fight. These were veterans, not only of Essendrav, but of wars amongst their own kind. That one, with the big hammer, the scar on its face must have been from another ork's axe.

A perfect target for the punisher, or so Stolce figured.

One of the orks, as it jumped out, lifted a pole with a rocket attached to its end. In a hiss, the rocket shot across the road and exploded into the front of the punisher. Flames licked up from its front and the tank drove clumsily backward.

"Uh oh!" Stolce heard himself say as both sides exchanged fire. Humans leapt behind cover or backed away, but the orks kept on a hot advance. Stolce cracked off a shot before he heard the rocky, tumbling sound of moving debris beside him. He shot across the road with one of his squad, ducking behind the punisher as the hab they were beside was pushed down. The rest of his boys, still against the side of the street, backed away in alarm from the great thing that moved through the rising dust.

A trash can, with four crab legs and a pair of claws. One ended in a cruel hammer and another hoisted a buzzing saw. The machine twisted violently to one side to slice the head off a startled boy as he raised his head from the alley he was in.

In a hurry, the sentinel fired. Stolce saw dripping bits of metal dribble off the hole the shot made, but the walker crawled on, smashing the road threateningly with its hammer.

Stolce ducked over the punisher and fired a burst of lasfire into the faces of the orks. They were engaged with the front guardsmen now, rushing after them to fight them room-to-room in the habs or struggling with them in the street. Guardsmen lay dead, cut apart, wherever Stolce looked. They were being dragged down or beat aside as they fell back.

"Hit that one!" Stolce shouted to his squad, pointing at a brute with a horned helm that had pushed a wounded guardsman into another, knocking both violently down. A stream of lasfire hammered the ork. It turned its face at the squad as lasfire ripped off its skin. Then, a lasbolt caught it in the face and it fell back. Stolce pointed at another, a bald monstrosity with spiked shoulder pads, hurtling towards them.

"That one!" A burst of fire followed and the beast dropped. Stolce jumped when an ork looked down at them from the punisher's top and raised its sword. Stolce shot it in the eyes while the rest of his squad finished it off, dropping it off the side.

"Back and reload! Check your packs!" Stolce ordered, dodging back as more orks got closer. One of Stolce's squad was punched to the ground by an ork slug. Two of his squadmates dragged the bleeding PDFer. A bloodthirsty warrior with two barbaric axes lunged at them from around the tank, but the Chazzans put it down.

The walker, which had been distracted by the guardsmen in cover and the sentinel, now turned to the wounded soldier and the boys helping him. Stolce would not lose another. But how could he stop that thing? Once more, he was facing a great bully with primitive, violent desires.

"Hey!" Stolce shot at the walker. Where was the damned sentinel? It wasn't in the street. "Get over here!" Stolce fired and jumped. A few ork shots flew past him and the 89th fired back in reply. "Get over here!"

"Sir? What are you doing?" someone asked. The walker turned from the wounded as they retreated down an alley. Now, he was the target. Stolce could see little painted skull kill markings on the walker's rusted, blood red hull. They stared at him in rows, asking him to join.

The clanking monster stalked at him. It was faster than he thought! Stolce's squad scattered like mice from light, but he remained fixed, alone before this big iron bully.

From an alley, a laser bolt lashed out, fiery red. The bolt struck the walker's rightmost leg, making it stumble, amputating it cleanly. One leg now ended in a molten stump, like a severed human limb was bloody. The sentinel stepped out of the alley and fired again at the walker's flank. In contrast to his earlier shot, which struggled against the thick, roughly crafted armour, this shot slid thorugh the orkish machine as if it wasn't even there. A hot lance burst from the machine's other side and it toppled down, landing heavily, like a bag of chains.

As the orks maneuvered around their slain champion, guardsmen blazed fire into them. From windows and dark alleys, lasgun bayonets thrust into necks and eyes, withdrawing faster than an ork could swing.

Then, the whole orkish mob was lost in a puddle of sun that issued from the flamers of the punisher. The tank was still alive. Stolce could see shapes of orks with skins of fire thrashing in the inferno. From every corner of the street that the orks had not reached came guardsmen: Chazzan, Morchaghan and Ersonian PDF. Lasguns knocked orks down, bayonets finished off wounded orks who burned in the street. As the punisher's main cannon came back online and the fire on its hull vanished at last, the Imperials thrust down the street. Steel and machinery was their tool of wrath, but their strength came from the ancient instinct of human courage. Against that, not even these alien veterans could endure. The last ork died as it lay thrashing on the ground, gutted by a shot from the sentinel and slain at last by a bayonet pushed through its thick neck.

…

The distant thud of the nearby battle provided Osprey with a backdrop to his message.

"…So I want all resistance groups hearing this message to come to the rallying point I have described to join in our mission," finished Osprey into the vox. He handed it back to Lystartro. "That'll bring in at least a small platton worth of guns." Lystartro smiled at how sure he sounded.

"What the hell kind of place is that?" Lystartro asked. "And are you sure there's gonna be enough guys to fight us to the mountain? Orks aren't stupid brutes, they'll be watching the ruins for any tricks we try on them. Fighting our way to the mountain's gonna be like Rynn's World."

"Except without the Astartes," Osprey sniffed. "Yueka?" The woman looked up. "Take some of these 89th babies with you to the square and wait and see if anyone heard our message and joins our little rescue mission." Yueka nodded and took all the present 89th troops into the ruins. Then, they were gone.

"Makes me wonder how much time we have," Osprey said as a whistle broke the air.

"Artillery!" Lystartro called, ducking into a crater with Kins as a shell hammered the ground nearby. A few more shots broke the ground around them. Osprey just stood dumb and looked up.

"Looks like they're bringing us some help after all," Osprey confided with a point. The shells stopped as, streaking down through the air above their heads, came a trio of black valkyries, escorting a smaller ship. Some kind of lander, perhaps for a sentinel? Lystartro and Kins stood up, the commissar holding his hat to his head as the landing craft washed air over the three of them. They saw stormtroopers, real stormtroopers, exiting the valkyries in rehearsed, professional formations. The small lander, an eyesore in the world of grey with its bright red and black paint, let down a ramp.

"Wait…that symbol," Lystartro said as he set his shotgun aside and squinted. "Damn," he said to Kins, "why now?"

CLICK. He heard a gun cock behind them. Lystartro didn't even bother looking as the stormtroopers surrounded them, guns raised, faces covered. That lander wasn't made to carry anything _to _Urbanis 1.

"Now my good boys, what's all this crap about?" Lystartro asked innocently.

"Drop your guns," said a familiar voice behind him. Lystartro turned to see Frens, his eyes hard, his hands clutching his officer's laspistol. "In the name of the Inquisition," Frens commanded, "drop your guns." Osprey and Kins discarded their weapons. Lystartro was speechless as Frens indicated the manhole cover that led down to the Water Dog's sewer home. "It's all down there, boys," he said as the stormtroopers began to file down, sliding down the ladder, agile and sure.

"Frens? What is…" Lystartro began through a tight jaw.

"Consorting with a heretic captain? And xenos? Shame shame," Frens sighed. "My master, inquisitor Dolman, won't be happy."

"You've been spying…"

"I've been looking for heresy on Dolman's behalf since this regiment was founded," whispered Frens, "I've uncovered more than my share in the past. Those loose nurses back on Salsheema'dosh? You ever wonder why they stopped showing up? But you sir? Why?"

"You idiot," snarled Lystartro. "The dark eldar…"

"In the name of the inquisition, I place you all under arrest." Stormtroopers jumped them, beating even Commissar Kins to the ground. "Take these heretics below. But leave the purging to the boss." Frens collected Lystartro's shotgun as they were all dragged below.

…

Frens stalked through the corridor of the underground complex. Behind him, two faceless men marched, their chests marked with the insignia of the His holy inquisition, their eyepieces red in the unlit mess of this rat's home of a hideout. Frens had been injured for a long time and had missed many meetings with the aliens and their heretical middleman. He entered the messhall.

"You will talk now," Frens demanded, his voice stiff and unforgiving. "Where is Mhal Dannit? Have you not been told about the new status of Mhal Dannit?" Pause. "Well? Where is he?"

"You're wasting your time," said Lystartro as he stood to his feet. "You know, I thought you were better than this. Selling us out…"

A few seconds later, Frens shot his captain and longtime friend. His human side felt some sympathy for Lystartro, but his inquisitorial indoctination regard such feelings as weakness. He would kill all of the 112th just to catch Mhal Dannit.

"Emperor…curse…you…" Lystartro gasped to the man he used to call his friend. Frens could see the hate in Lystartro's eyes. The hate of a man betrayed. "I…hope…you…die…" He would get in the way of Frens and his investigation. The law said Frens had to finish him off.

"You first." He shot Lystartro in the head. Lystartro, the grizzled old Rynn's World veteran who had a natural instinct for shotguns and a fear of fire, died silently, blood making a puddle on the table he lay upon.

The whole room erupted. Resistance fighters stood up, but were beat down and led out. Only Osprey did nothing. Frens approached Osprey and offered him a tobacco stick. Osprey took it in his mouth but did not light it. The fear of the inquisition had him in its talons. In the talons of the imperial eagle, so Frens thought of it.

"Now," Frens asked Osprey as the last of the traitors were led out. Lystartro lay where he fell, eyes still open. "What happened? Start from the beginning."

"Mhal, he's gone to the mountain. We're to meet up with him and the eldar. I've called for aid from the local resistance," Osprey replied. "Please, the Water Dogs are innocent, you know that."

"I'll leave your judgment to the inquisitor, but I'll put in a good word for the Water Dogs if you're helpful," Frens replied. Osprey, trembling, told Frens everything he knew about Mhal, from what he had seen, to what he had heard.


	13. The Secret Entrance

The Water Dogs were standing out in the open, women and men, young and old, hands behind their heads. They stood in a block, like a regiment on parade. But they did not look like fighters, even the fighters didn't look like anything but starved beggars without their weapons. The Morchaghan 112th and the 89th stood alongside them, in identical formation and posture. Their inquisitorial overseers watched them while Osprey and Frens remained below.

It was entirely as the farseer's vision had told him.

Mhal and his friends lay crouched in the ruins around the parade, slender weapons raised to their eyepieces as the trap was woven with intricate precision. His crosshairs were centered on one man's helmet and his sword was alive. Quickly, they would spring.

Mhal had few reservations about killing. He had seen it so often that he no longer felt the death of another, except the closest of friends. He's seen shootings in the underhive back on that one world they zipped past. He'd seen a lot of this war. When he was a boy, he'd seen his brother die. His mind had just grown numb to it like an immune system adjusting to a virus. But killing humans didn't just threaten to sicken his thoughts. As he prepared to strike, he remembered that he wasn't one of them.

Not really.

"Initiate," sang the voice of the exarch beside him. Their hummed as thirty eldar guns rang out. The eighteen troopers watching the prisoners snapped back and down to the floor in a few rounds. One of them had even got a few shots off as he was killed. Those few shots were enough to make one of their Dire Avengers bleed. As Mhal and the eldar floated from the shadows, he wondered how many lives would have been lost if they had attacked these humans head on.

"Mhal?"asked Kins, staring hard at him. Mhal shrugged.

"Came and got you. Come on, we've got to hurry up. Arcantillius is still where I left him…" he looked around. "Where's Lystartro?" Kins didn't answer.

"So it's true, then?" Kins' eyes flapped over the eldar. One third of them dressed like stormtroopers: Mhal's personal friends. The outcasts of Alaitoc. Alongside them, were the more conventional warriors of the craftworld: warriors of Khaine who had come with the farseer. Dire Avengers. Their blue armour was tarnished and dirty so to blend in with the scenery. The vibrant colours of their crest had been covered by black.

"This is Exarch Nhimeia," Mhal said, pointing to the noble one. "He doesn't speak gothic. I mean, my rangers do but most of the warriors don't."

_May we go now? The dark kin await their destroyers _Nhimeia sounded impatient. He was always impatient in battle, unless tactics called for it.

_A moment, honoured exarch, _Mhal replied. The captives were already fleeing to join the eldar. The civilian Water Dogs crept back into the sewer.

"What he say?" Kins asked, pointing to Nhimeia. Mhal recited the exarch's words in a hurry.

"Is this all?" Mhal asked. Kins nodded grimly.

_Lead us to the farseer now _Mhal said to the exarch. He looked back to Kins. "Come on."

"You know boy," Kins said, "I can't quite think how you ended up with these aliens. Now, the Imperium will kill you and my men if they find you out. For saving me from the inquisition and for being such a good killer, I'll follow your plan. But you'll have to get out of my sight after this sideshow is done." Mhal nodded. "How did you end up with them anyway?"

_The warzone was merciless. Even civilians were targeted._

_Striding up the roadtoward the site of the massacre came a number of hooded warriors. They were too graceful to be humans and their lithe limbs wore wraithbone jewelry bought from a merchant in Alaitoc before they left for the Path of the Outcast, to become simple rangers. _

_From the field of corpses left by the killers, someone was still screaming. The hooded ones passed the massacre. Only one of them stayed behind, to investigate the cries. Under the body of a dead woman, whose last act alive was to shield her child, was a boy. He was probably a few months past his first birthday. The warrior standing over the boy was already an outcast who'd left her home for adventure. Who was going to stop her? Certainly not the leaders or laws of her people. And this boy's care would be a little adventure for her. She leaned down. _

_That evening, when the graceful ones moved on through the devastated countryside, they had an extra companion. The little human lay asleep in the alien woman's arms as the rangers slid off into the night… _

"Been with them all my life," Mhal said quickly. He crawled over a pile of rubble and helped Kins over, following the patrol of eldar. "Now shush. We want to keep quiet while we do this."

…

Across Urbanis 1, they were collected together. Files upon files of marching boots rumbled the ground, causing such a clamour as to rival the far off thunder of the imperial artillery. Piggish snorts broke the air with their rusty tone. Several loud-voiced nobs roared orders to their mobs. The mobs melted together like drops of oil to create a single massed swarm, like a lake of filthy green hide and grey armour. Clanking alongside this were rag-tag bunches of vehicles, either crab-legged to handle the debris or wheeled and riding through the roads. Some wore treads and were spiked with blades and cannon.

When the cloudless sky rang with thunder, much louder than the human guns, the thousands of orks raised their weapons high. A great dark shape swooped over them, swarming escorts of rocket-driven infantry clinging to his shadow. The soaring ork banked towards a short but intact building and slammed down onto its roof. His escort followed him unsteadily. A few of them missed the building and slammed into the ground. But this one ork was too precise with his rocket packs to make such a mistake. This ork, the great warboss Skullkicker, was too good with his rockets.

He raised his claw to the sky, snapping its shearing blades.

"WAAAAAAAGH!" Skullkicker bellowed like a tempest.

"WAAAAAAAGH!" his hordes replied. Skullkicker pointed and his mob washed across the city towards the humans, barreling down anything in their way.

The invasion was on the move.

…

It was a lonely spike of almighty granite in the ground, like some pillar raised by the earth itself to honour the Emperor. It was the mountain of the Emperor's angel.

Cav stood in awe of the mountain. If he weren't a prisoner of Sectraa, the mountain would be ten times as big. It was strange to be here under these circumstances. It was like being taken hostage in his own home. Such a familiar place, but no freedom to enjoy it.

"There it is," Cav said as Sectraa led them on.

"Shut your mouth," snarled Sectraa, pushing him forward through the ruins. On either side of them, the eyes of the Halivorians and a few of their dark allies regarded them. Issinel smiled and waved at them. Sectraa ignored them altogether.

"Great! An Angelspear. Should we…" began a bearded man, emerging from the ruins. Sectraa shoved him aside and walked on. The very base of the mountain's monolith body lay before them. The ruins around it looked so small. Here and there, gazing out from the mountainside with carved granite eyes, were the many faces of the most reknowned members of the hill tribes. Cav could name them all.

"So where's the door?" Cav asked Issinel. She hushed him and Sectraa glared at him. Cav looked behind him and saw a number of Halivorians were melting from the ruins to follow them. They looked so normal, not even dressed in flak jackets. A few carried weapons: autoguns or even swords. Sectraa snapped at him and Cav looked straight. He was walking towards a hole in the mountainside, one that had been drilled recently. The ugly gauge was deep and dark and surrounded by heaps of debris. Cav felt sick as he wondered what could await him down there but was more sickened as he imagined the Halivorians wounding the mountain.

"In!" Sectraa's voice was verbal ice. Cav hardened his heart as he walked down into the mountain's wound. The warmth of the sunlit day disappeared behind his back. Only a foreboding darkness awaited him inside this underground pit. It grew cold fast. Cav could imagine the dark servants of Sectraa waiting for him down here, watching with soulless eyes and cold intentions. If it wasn't for the hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward, he wouldn't know he was moving at all.

"Faster," the snake-voice of Sectraa hissed. Cav heard Issinel complain. Did she know why Sectraa wanted her down here? He felt like crying out, warning her. But in this light forsaken hole, with Sectraa at his shoulder, it wasn't a good idea.

The sloping ground suddenly grew flat. Cav felt the hand release his shoulder. Something moved in front of him. It was like being underwater, surrounded by total darkness, cold and silence. What was Sectraa…?

There was suddenly a light in the room, a dim lantern. Sectraa held the lantern in his hands and looked up at Cav. Cav looked away from Sectraa's eyes at the faint walls. They looked smooth, like marble or bone. He judged he could fit a small family of grox in here, if he had a prod. The passage they had come in through had torn through the side of the rounded interior. Where was this? That white material was not the mountain's flesh. On the far wall, there was a door, outlined by a hair-thin crack. It was big enough to ride a grox through if he could get one down here. By the size and importance Sectraa showed towards the door, Cav expected there to be a lifetime supply of grox meat beyond the door.

Or…whatever Sectraa was after.

"This is what you shall do for me," Sectraa hissed as a pair of spider-machines trundled into the chamber with them. They worked as he spoke, tapping the door with their legs. "You will touch the rune you see appear and will the door to open, driving it forward with your emotion. Your will to open it shall be the key. You shall do so." Cav watched in facination as a black circle appeared upon the door: materializing from nowhere like magic. Witch tricks? An ancient machine spirit's will? Cav backed away when the circle's interior began to glow with hundreds of tiny white runes, written in liquid silk that shone with an eldritch glow that made Cav think more of witchcraft.

"Remember what I said," Sectraa finished.

"Please Cav, please. Do it for the Angelspear, do it for Ersonia. This world is Erson's, it's Halivor's world. Not the Emperor's, not the ork's either. Please," Issinel was pleading. Cav looked sadly at her cute smile. So bright in this dark place, so young and so pretty. He wanted to reach out and touch her cheek. But in that moment, he saw more than beauty. He saw a hopeless ignorance. Issinel was an ignorant girl who was parroting the words of a greater master, not understanding them, and believing them. Worse, she could understand them perfectly and was trying to manipulate him with her charm.

"What is there?" Cav asked. Sectraa said nothing.

"Please Cav," whispred Issinel with a voice that may or may not have been truthful in its tenderness. "I hate this war. I want it to end." Cav took a deep breath and expelled his fear with his breath. He thought about his family as he spoke, his ancestors too. All of them, watching him, praying for him to keep his courage and to do the right thing.

"No," Cav said selflessly. Sectraa was frightening, but his victory was even worse.

The spiders reacted instantly.

"AH!" Issinel screamed an unmistakable, shrill, girl-scream. Cav struggled under the legs of the spider that had jumped on him and pinned him to the ground. He saw Issinel was pinned by the other. Sectraa was standing over him, claws unfolded, grinning beneath his hood.

"Are you sure, human?" Sectraa asked. Human? Was humanity Sectraa didn't have? He looked freakishy pale, but…

"What are you doing?" screamed Issinel. "Let me up! Please!" Sectraa leaned down and Cav saw him scratch Issinel, who loved to carve wooden dolls, in the cheek. Her scream was the most awful sound Cav had heard since entering Essendrav.

"Do you want her to die?" Sectraa asked. "Do you want me to do this to you next?" He scratched again. A tear of blood fell down Issinel's cheek. What kind of monster did this to his own underlings?

"Please Cav…" Issinel was crying. "Help me!"

…

Somewhere in that command centre, the auspex detected a large mass of orks coming their way. Officers and colonels redirected the guns to lob their shells at the mass. A number of adjustments were made to the outer defenses and teams were organized to harass the enemy's flanks. Gunships were scrambled to assault them from above.

Whining shells slammed into Urbanis 1, moving through the orks. Artillery shells flung from the hollow snouts of upturned artillery guns sailed a whistling path through the air and exploded deep in the ranks of the orkish foe. The bloodthirsty horde that swept across the city to reach the humans was pitted and hammered many times by scores of blasts that shook the clouds. Whole groups of orks ceased to be when the shells hit. Thick green bodies were thrown into pieces and rained down on their comrades. Shrapnel the size of melons broke the bones of mighty orks. For the survivors, this display of brutality was a joyful display of ferocity that made them drive themselves harder. Orks carried on, spurred by the fight ahead, heedless to the death that broke the ground beneath them. The mad laughs of the nobs could be heard through the falling shells as they goaded their legions forward. When they came into sight of the gunships, the true scale of the horde was revealed.

"This is valkyrie-7," the dull voice of Rikard Smeth droned into his mask, "I have visual, looks big." Around him, other pilots began chiming in their own estimations with increasing unease.

"Valkyrie-16, I have contact with multiple large targets."

"This is valkyrie-12, I'd say about 5000 plus, or more."

"No, better make it 10000 plus."

"My god," the breathless voice of valkyrie-15 was full of fear. "There's so many of them." Rikard had no patience for this.

"This is lead. We are cleared to engage. All weapons may fire at will," beeped valkyrie-lead. With a swoosh, the valkyrie gunships drove down to the green stained ruins, weapons ready.

Smoky trails issued out from under a few of their wings and flaming bursts appeared amongst the orks, adding to the destruction already being hurled at them. Across the line, huge ork cannon pointed skyward and fired. The valkyries quickly found themselves dodging shots.

Lines of lascannon fire slashed down their craft. With needle precision, some of the larger ork vehicles that were mixed in with the horde were burst apart. Islands of fire leapt up from the sea of green whenever a lascannon found its target. Shots after shot spat down at the orks. Huge ramshackle tanks that could have smashed through infantry lines like raging beasts of steel were turned to fiery corpses. The orks pressed on, those on foot uncaring about the burning wrecks in their midst. Each shot made the coming fight easier.

"Damn, this is too easy," one of the pilots said. A scattered bonfire of wrecks that blazed with oily fire lay below them.

"Keep going!" shouted another as his valkyrie's guns fried its fifteenth ork to a charred, fleshy wreck.

"Try and hit the big ones and the damn vehicles," another piped in. A final ork dropped down, burnt to a torch before the orks finally drew blood from their flying attackers.

"Rocket! Rocket!"

"Ah! My portside wing is hi…" one of the gunships rolled to one side as it fell, stricken from the sky, leaving a legacy of smoke in its wake. It was Rikard Smeth. As he fell, he tried to touch a photopict he had taped to his window, of a smiling dark-haired woman holding a baby girl. The woman's frozen face kept smiling at Rikard as he died.

Around the flight, the orks were now intensifying their resistance. Shots were coming up too fast to dodge. Valkyries burst dozens of orkish vehicles into cartwheeling wreckage, but more of them were blown out of the sky. Sometimes, the pilots didn't have time to cry out before their vox link was cut.

When the last missile was fired at the orks, the surviving ten turned and retreated, a barrage of shells and rockets chasing an explosive path after them. Dark bursts erupted around the valkyries, shaking them on their course with their violence. One valkyrie was knocked out of the sky, blown clean in two, its grey pieces flaking apart as they burned.

Then, Skullkicker came.

He announced himself with an exploding valkyrie, which simply disappeared in a fireball of burning fuel. In one vallkyrie, a startled pilot with enchanting green eyes looked up into the sun. He covered the sun's light with his hand and tried to see what that thing he saw up there was, staring with his freckled face.

Skullkicker's foot came through the canopy, exploding through the glass and crushing the young pilot's head to paste. The ork boss grinned at the terrified man in the canopy above the man he'd just stomped. His claw tore the other canopy off and flung it off. The canopy caught the wind and was gone. The ork's other claw pulled the screaming man out, ripping through his safety straps like wet paper. The crewman thrashed around as Skullkicker lifted off and let the valkyrie drop beneath him. He lifted the pilot and dropped him, laughing at how the man moved as he fell, growing smaller and smaller. The warboss wished he could continue, but he was on a short scheduel.

He rocketed off to the north, towards the mountain.

Below him, human shells still made a mess of his forces, killing hundreds. But what did it matter, when they had thousands to replace them? The orks were killed, but not stopped by the shells that fell. They just kept on coming.

…

"Oh, this is bad," Stolce whispered as the first greenskins appeared over the hills of rubble as he looked over his sandbags. They were over a hundred meters away, but he could hear their roars like they were right there behind the sandbags with them. This time, being part of two hundred guardsmen was no comfort, even with all the punisher and three sentinels that backed them up. This was one narrow part of the defensive line and already other sections were voxing in reports of ork attacks. This narrow alley of bumpy rubble, crater holes and skeletal spires of what had once been hab units was their part. Even if they held here, all was lost of the orks got behind them.

"Blaze away!" Sage shouted, cracking off with his lasgun. Other lasguns answered. The sentinels answered. The great punisher's cannon answered, chewing off shots from its rotating barrels. Stolce saw the ork line falter. The first ranks were losing bodies. They fell and slowed or tripped the barbarians behind them. The messy charge turned into a rolling, tumbling mess as they fell down the pile of rubble they were scaling. Lascannon shots from the sentinels broke orks in two, making their ragged clothes burn and their flesh turn black. Lasguns added their usual effects. The hammering punisher's gun threw up spits of dust in long lines when it hit dirt and threw orks down when it hit flesh. Would the orks botch their charge? It sure looked like they might.

But as they were orks, the greenskins could recover. Stolce watched many of the fallen greenskins get back up and push themselves forward. It was like a mudslide now. The orks were being carried over the steep rubble by momentum. Some of them weren't even alive as they tumbled down the side of the hill. Then, they reached the bottom. Some reached it as rolling corpses, but too many were alive and ran forward, either taking shelter to launch brutal slugs at the humans or sprinting in towards the kill.

Stolce braced for the fight as he saw the first explosions of dirt leap up around the ruins ahead of them. Short ranged ork bullets were skipping along the ground.

"Rocket!"

Stolce saw an ork lift a lancher as it ran across the ground. It fired it as it was pulled down by lasguns. A moment later, a part of the sandbag wall exploded. If there were losses, Stolce didn't look. He bit his lip and prayed the orks would stop.

They kept coming. Their momentum was taking them meter by meter across the ground. There must have been ten for every human. They were losing bodies with every step but kept the pressure coming. Ten? No, there were more like twenty for each human!

'We're not going to make it,' he thought in fear. He reloaded and shot down his third ork. He used to love the thought of killing orks. Now that he was actually doing it, it made no difference. The thought of his own death was too great. He could see their rusty blades, waving in their green paws in excitement. Stolce clenched his teeth and kept shooting, not even bothering to aim as he emptied his cell on the wall of aliens.

But Stolce would be damned if he was the first man to break ranks and run!

The punisher's flamers let loose at the last second, holding the orks back a healthy 30 meters while an orderly withdrawl occurred. Everyone backed away, lengthening the ground between them and the aliens as much as they could. Stolce went with them, now facing a wall of fire and not a wall of orks. Then, it became a wall of burning orks, who still ran even as they burned to death. Stolce looked at a few unmoving guardsmen who lay by the sandbags. He didn't see anyone he knew amongst those bloody dolls.

Stolce shot down a burning ork before it could shoot him and fumbled in his pack for another pack. Then, he realized he had none left. Stolce was just a bayonet and a butt.

…

With the sound of thunder, Skullkicker slammed his feet down into the ground. Behind him, his retinue landed. Behind them, a wedge of growling, smoke belching trucks rolled through the streets. Some carried orks, some carried cannon. All were unquestioningly loyal to their warboss.

_NOW FIND DA SECRET ENTRANCE TO DA MOUNTAIN! _Skullkicker's voice was like a bell and a barking dog. His subordinates obeyed instantly: too smart to disobey him. The huge ork stood unmoving as he planned his strategy while the orks moved past him.

While the main body of his force (and any ambitious rivals within his underlings) were distracted with fighting the human raid, Skullkicker would find this thing the weirdboyz saw. A man, with guns for arms, as fast as a fighta and shootier than a stompa. His boys would find it and Skullkicker would loot it for himself! Then, not even the biggest, most arrogant nob under him would question his rule of this invasion.

Somewhere in the ruins, a startled human child, covered in dirt and scrawny, peered out from the shadows. They covered their eyes when they saw Skullkicker.

The warboss was huge, larger than any nob under his command. His whole body was clad in brown armour, crafted by a skilled engineer and fit specifically to Skullkicker's form. It was bulky in places, but allowed Skullkicker no significant problems with moving. His feet were hissing cybernetics: solid metal replicas of an ork's feet and bristling with blades. His hands were both dressed in power claws, which had machine guns built into them. His face was covered in a helmet that showed his fangs and bright yellow eyes. A hefty iron gob was fitted onto his jaw and it was notched for each rival he'd put down. So far, he had sixteen markings on it. Perched on each shoulder was a nest of angry-faced rockets, fitted into special launchers.

Most unique was Skulkicker's back. It was fitted with three rocket packs, which were connected to four smaller rockets, one on each limb. A connection to his brain let him control them with thought alone. He could outfly a kopta and flew better than most storm boys.

He was the invasion. He was the wings of Gork and Mork. He was Skullkicker.

…

Sectraa caressed his finger down the girl's face and stopped just beneath her neck. His favourite thing to do was torture helpless victims, savour their pain like fruit and enjoy the thrill of having power over someone. The fear in Issinel's face was delicious. He knew the Halivorians knew nothing of this and would react poorly if they learned, but SO WHAT! They were damned humans. To Slaanesh with them all!

"Why?" whispered Issinel in fear. Sectraa smiled and ran his fingers across her flanks. He looked back at Cav. He trusted a human of Cav's age would dislike the sight and sound of a dying female of his own age. HA! Such weak-willed animals! Sectraa knew he would have Cav's cooperation soon.

"Do not worry," whispered Sectraa as he put his face up to Issinel's and licked her nose. "I will make it painful." Issinel screamed in pain as his claws pricked her stomach and injected their toxin into her skin. "So painful. Pain. Pain. Delicious pain."

_Sectraa! _It was one of his underlings, a mere warrior named Ralreth. The young warrior stood in the shadows, his nose and mouth hidden by a rag, but his form-fitting black armour visible under the human-made cape that coiled itself around his shoulders. _The orks are coming. It might be the warboss. We haven't time! _Sectraa considered skinning the boyish Ralreth for interrupting his fun. Of course, he considered skinning people daily. He almost never did it.

_Then kill them you ignorant whelp! Kill them or I will send you to Slaanesh! _Sectraa roared. The warrior ran off and Sectraa turned back to Issinel to continue torturing her. But then, he reconsidered. His unstable whims changed. A fight? He longed to spill blood. Besides, the humans were pinned tightly. Sectraa folded up his claws. Claws were for discipline. He drew a small, featureless box from inside his armour. Cav gasped at the sight of it and Sectraa opened it.

Inside, was the imprisoned mind of a psyker, taken from its host and forced to constantly contain Sectraa's weapons inside the box. Sectraa drew them forth, and the psyker energies that shrunk their size disappeared. He put the box back and twirled his jagged sword and pointed his splinter pistol at Cav so he could look into the skull fastened to it with its open mouth over the barrel.

"You cannot escape. I will be back shortly," the dark eldar promised. The longer he was away from the torture, the more anticipation it would give him. Anticipating torture was sometimes better than doing it.

He took off into the tunnel.

Minutes later, he waited inside a bombed-out hab, far from the entrance to the hidden mountain chamber. The orks had suspected the towering temple to Saint Erson, built into the side of the mountain was what they wanted. It was not, but the sight of orks racing inside was exciting. So many to kill. A few orks remained outside, knocking their guns into the stairs to the main entrance, trying to break them loose. Fools.

_For the kabal _Sectraa hissed to the shadows. _Show them the fury Commorragh_ From the shadows came a trio of warriors, who threw their skyboards forward and jumped on them, grabbing onto the reins that helped them stay on with one hand and hefting their harpoons with the other. Their boards shot out across the field, bounding over piles of rubble with ease. The orks did not see them coming.

Long swords attached to the skyboards decapitated ork warriors from behind. Those not beheaded were fixed with a harpoon. The orks looked for their attackers, but they were already gone. The wounded orks were aggressive at first, but slowed down as the virus worked into the blades began to take effect. One by one, the orks fell, blood squirting out of their eyes and noses. The warriors returned and collected their weapons. They signaled to Sectraa that the coast was clear, but he was already inside.

Sectraa walked at the head of eleven of his warriors, larglely equipped with splinter rifles. Their eyes were hard. All tied rags around their mouths and noses to hide their alien faces from human eyes. Only three wore distinct Commorragh helmets: smooth and slightly pointed, but without the jagged crests so favoured by many of the kabals. One of them, Marshrax, was carrying a so-called pulse rifle he'd taken off the bloody body of one of those Greater Good aliens from the Eastern Fringe. What was that soft race called?

As they rounded the first corner, they came into sight of three greenskins in the foyer. Marshrax's gun blew them all away in bolts of blue energy that sang out with very little noise. When another ork marched in, Marshrax blew it back with one shot. Sectraa signaled to the unit and they slid through the foyer towards the far stairs, rifles raised. They could hear orks up those stairs.

Sectraa paused to let others walk in front. When his warriors fired into the room and were shot at, he knew he'd made the right choice, plus he could hear something coming up the stairs behind them. There must have been another door into that foyer that orks could come through. Perfect.

Sectraa slipped down the spiral stairs, from the firefight, and waited in ambush. When an ork turned the corner, Sectraa lashed out with his sword. The ork's head toppled off and Sectra moved down the stairs, falling upon the second one. The beast's hands fell off. It tried to swat him, but Sectraa was already behind it. His splinter pistol blew a hole in the third one's face as he cut the second one in two, his sword passing through its bumpy armour and into its flesh, then back out. Sectraa licked the black blood on his sword as the last ork came at him, cleaver raised. If Sectraa tried to parry this blow, he would break his arm.

The ork's cleaver broke as it smashed into empty stone stairs. The ork only had time to give a surprised grunt when a sword slammed into its neck.

Sectraa came back upstairs to find the others were inside the room, having massacred the orks inside. Tsstrex had taken a bullet to the gut and the others had killed him so he wouldn't bog them down. This room, filled with foolish idols to Erson, provided much cover. Everyone found a hiding place when the orks from the next room rushed in to investigte. The dark eldar allowed them enough silence to allow all the orks to walk into the room. Then Marshrax's pulse rifle shot one through the head, spraying its skull into the face of the one behind it. Dark eldar splinter rifles blasted the others in the neck or chest, gifting them with a quick death.

'Slow death is for pleasure. This is war. Quick deaths are for war,' Sectraa thought. 'What a shame.'

_Split. Marshrax, Tsin, Ralreth, with me. _Sectraa took his three chosen forward into the next room to find more idols, but no orks. But Sectraa wasn't fooled. He was a dark eldar slaver: he was a hunter. He could tell there were orks behind that door there, the one in the corner behind that idol. All he needed to confirm this was the light that disappeared and reappeared beneath the door as orks moved past it…

Beyond the door, fifteen greenskins hefted their weapons and got ready to pounce. They thought themselves cunning by sitting behind these benches that filled the room, facing that big statue by the far wall and waiting to kill. Once that door was open, they'd attack.

The door opened a bit. A few brass shots knocked holes in it. The orks didn't leap up and hesitated when a small black sphere was thrown in. They ducked or backed away from it, expecting it to explode. Instead, it burst open and a billowing white cloud hissed from it, covering the door and the front of the room. The orks closest to the cloud choked and staggered back from it.

Then, bright blue flashes appeared through the cloud and bolts of pulse rifle fire cut into them. One fell back, the top of his skull blown open. The orks blasted away at the cloud. A few held their breath and rushed into the cloud, axes raised. Moments later, the sound of orks crying out came from the cloud.

Only then did the dark eldar who had gotten through the cloud appear.

From behind some of the other benches close to the front, Ralreth poked his head up and fired precise shots into orkish throats. Tsin was on the opposite end of the room, firing with equal precision, killing with every few shots. Ralreth fired fewer, but better shots. Distracted once again, the orks didn't notice Sectraa until he was right on top of them.

Alien flesh gave way to his sword. He avoided their most thickly armoured parts and targeted exposed veins, necks and eyes. Sectraa's splinter pistol fired and knocked down an ork who was rushing him with a chainsword. He twisted around and thrust his blade through the grill on an orkish helmet. He dodged back as an ork's sword bisected the bench he was against. With a flick of his sword, he cut off the hand holding that sword and ducked down to get a shot at the ork's throat. His splinter pistol fired once and the ork's eyes rolled into the back of its head. It staggered backwards and fell when Marshrax put him down.

_What fun, _Sectraa hissed. The others cackled and reloaded. Tsin eagerly searched for trophies, thus letting his guard down. Were he a threat to Sectraa's status, that would be his last mistake. No, Tsin was a simple gunman. It was within Ralreth that Sectraa saw his biggest adversary.

_We shall return_ Ralreth said, _This hunt is slowing down our progress._

_Indeed _replied Marshrax, _The archon is waiting. _Sectraa nodded slowly, reluctantly agreeing with his underlings. He shouldn't let them get the upper hand on him, but in this instance, they were correct.

I go _back down. Marshrax, come with me. Ralreth, stay here and fight on _Sectraa ordered. 'And try to get yourself killed,' he thought.

…

Through the ruins, they stalked. Water Dogs, Morchaghan guardsmen, Ersonian PDFers and the eldar of Alaitoc, all united against the dark eldar and their hapless Halivorian servants. They split into small splinters to approach the mountain from all directions at once. Kins and Mhal lurked with ten of Osprey's Water Dogs and the rangers in their stolen uniforms.

"Wait," Mhal whispered. Kins looked strangely at him. There was nothing special about these hab units they were sneaking through. "Alright, my farseer is out there somewhere with the rest of our forces. We will strike as one when the time comes."

"How many eldar does your farseer have?" whispered Kins.

"Enough. They came down to help us out all the way from Alaitoc when they learned of the dark kin…the dark eldar," Mhal answered. Kins felt some disgust in his gut at hearing a human use an alien term by mistake. And all this effort to save the silly PDF strawhead? Kins felt disgust, but most of the disgust was directed at everything other than Cav. With the inquisition, real Halivorians, eldar and this xenos-lover around him, the little matter of Cav was covered. Now that Kins could see past Cav's ethnicity, he felt some respect for the young fighter. The mountain hadn't split yet, so Cav hadn't opened the gate for the enemy. Was he resiliently holding out? Admirable.

'Great, now I'm thinking like Lystartro,' Kins thought. He heard one of the eldar tell Mhal something in their alien tongue. Mhal said something back.

"How about you fill us in?" asked one of the Water Dogs.

"The farseer thinks there's orks approaching," Mhal replied. "We are to attack soon, on his mark. When the fighting starts, you follow…"

There was an almighty explosion somewhere in the distance. Mhal nodded and the group swept forward, guns up. When a pair of humans in plain clothes with guns ran out of a hole before them, they mowed them down. After so much time fighting orks, it was refreshingly easy to gun down humans.

"So where's your blasted witch?" asked one of the Water Dogs as they snuck into a hab. They cleared out its rooms and looked out into the street, which was alive with gunfire: none of it orkish. Some of it was a shrill, singing sound, like a chirping bird. It sounded almost musical. His instincts told him that was eldar gunfire.

"Towards the mountain," whispered Mhal. They snuck onward.


	14. The Dark Kin

Farseer Kiskantsh had given the order to attack. From the mountain peaks, the warriors of Alaitoc swooped down to claim the human interlopers. A trio of glimmering grav tanks and their heavy cannon sang lances of destruction into the buildings the Halivorians had garrisoned. When they exploded into sparkling displays of detonated energy, the Dire Avengers were there to slice down any survivors. Following behind the grav tanks came a flight of graceful transports, from whose streamlined bodies came squads of green armoured striking scorpions. These cities would be their jungle, they would be the hunters and their sting would be the death of the dark kin. They were out there, somewhere.

The farseer stood with his three warlock bodyguards and a squad of Dire Avengers. Beside him, Arcantillius and the Morchaghan troops had just broken their silence. Lasguns mowed down rebel humans that scampered from their homes to avoid the raining death.

This was wrong. Halivorians dropped under lasgun fire or were turned to ash by grav tank cannon. But where were the cursed ones? Where were the dark kin?

_What is the matter, farseer? _asked Moliliquie from behind her warlock helm.

_I sense…I sense there is something I have not foreseen. The dark kin are missing _Kiskantsh whispered back. His eyes stared ahead, not only at the burning buildings and dying Halivorians, but through the future. This was no battle, but a slaughter of animals. But Kiskantsh knew not to think of it as a victory. There were limitless humans in this galaxy. It was the evil ones that he was interested in.

"Is there a flaw in this plan?" the human captain asked in his regal voice. He was a lot unlike that other one with the metal hand.

"Yes," Kiskantsh felt a poison creep into his mind. A fetid pollution, coming closer. It was the soul of his enemy. _Duck! _Kiskantsh ducked with the other eldar as the ignorant humans were attacked. Warriors upon skyboards swooped over them, blades hacking off heads. One of the noble Dire Avengers was killed by a harpoon through the heart. A second was cut down by a blasting splinter rifle, which shattered through his armour like glass. The humans were devastated. Half of them lay dead. Arcantillius was not among them.

"Bastards!" he cried, shedding his noble visage and blazing at the retreating foe. Such a shot could not be made, or so Kiskantsh thought.

One of the warriors toppled forward as his skyboard twirled out of control, slamming into the ground. Kiskantsh was genuinely impressed, but had no time to applaud.

"They come!" the farseer called, his mind sensing the enemy. "From behind us!"

From a hidden trapdoor upon the ground, the dark kin came. Their sleek black armour was half covered by the grey rags they wore to hide themselves in the forest of debris. None of them wore helmets.

"Bayonets!" Arcantillius roared, just as the skyboards came around for a second time. Only, those were not the same warriors upon them. Kiskantsh saw Sectraa on one. Their eyes met, but Kiskantsh had to duck to dodge the shots of one of Sectraa's escorts, who was armed with a stolen pulse rifle of the Tau Empire. Its precise shots burnt a hole through Moliliquie's helmet, roasting her elegant face to a disfigured rot of blackened skin. Behind Sectraa came more skyboards and a pair of great dark shadows.

There they were, the things Mhal had warned of.

Talos.

Fire flew between the two sides as both groups rushed into one another. Human and eldar against the soulless. Imperial bayonets stuck dark kin in the chest or lasbolts blasted aside their deadly grace with hard ferocity. Dire Avengers stayed near the back, firing through the melee with maximum accuracy or firing at Sectraa's host.

At the same time, humans were butchered by dancing black knives or gutted by wrist-mounted hooks. Splinter rifles were a cruel weapon and Arcantillius of Morchaghan soon learned how deadly they were. He fell back, his guts bleeding as his men died around him.

The talos grew closer. Sectraa, on the other hand, flew away, towards the mountain.

…

Curth and Tigerson and the other 89th boys had garrisoned a hab that sat by a great hole that was drilled into the mountainside. From their perch on the second floor, they could see the streets that approached the hab. They could hear the alien gunfire illuminate the air. They could feel the tension in the air.

"You ready to shoot some strawheads?" asked Curth.

"Yep. You?" Tigerson's ruthless stare. Curth wasn't sure. He'd fought Halivorians once and learned quickly that shooting another human wasn't like shooting an ork. It wasn't because humans died fast and orks took more to drop them, it was because of something else.

When he was talking down to Stolce with Cav back in the academy, he had been so full of himself. This war had shown him a side of him he didn't like: the side that showed fear and the side that showed pity. Slaughtering orks was easy. They were unfathomable monsters that were too detached from humanity. But another human was something else.

Mieel was in the window beside him, looking down at the street in fear. In their time here, the 89th had learned to get used to the crushing hardships of war. The thought that today was his last no longer bothered them. Every day was their last day. Only Mieel was still afraid.

When ununiformed men appeared behind a broken wall to shoot at them, Curth returned fire. Good. This distance was a good distance. Slain enemies would not register too heavily on his conscience.

"Some of those bastards are girls," Tigerson grinned through a burst of lasfire. What?

"Woah! Woah! GRENADE!" it was Hivven, one of Cav's boys. Curth turned in time to see a rolling grenade come to a stop by his feet. He felt a tremour of pressure as the grenade bumped into his boot.

Crap.

Mieel screamed and jumped into a corner, like that would help. Everyone else ducked down. Without thinking, Curth scooped up the grenade and hurled it out the window. Bullets shattered the wall he stood near and he ducked down. The grenade went off outside.

"YAAAAA!"

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Curth spun around and pointed his lasgun at as good an angle as he could towards the door. He saw the half-fallen Halivorian warriors hit the ground. Two of them, a young man and a young woman, with matching clan tattoos on their faces, dressed in civilian clothes. Blood was pooling quickly around them. They looked so normal, but they had tried to murder Curth and all his friends.

Mieel didn't stop shooting until his lasgun was dry and he didn't stop screaming until Curth walked over to him and held his mouth shut. He felt Mieel drop his gun and start to sob, hugging Curth the way he had when he had first found him in the ruins, before they knew he'd been bugged.

"Hey big brother," Tigerson shouted to him with a laugh. "Looks like little has his uses."

"They musta crawled in through a hole near the back," someone else said. Mieel didn't say anything, even when he stopped wailing.

…

Kins' chainsword whirled as three ink-skinned figures leapt from the dark, cruel hooks in hand. One of them bit one of Mhal's rangers in the neck. Kins sliced through the depraved warrior's own neck, leaving his head hanging from the ranger. As the last one died, Kins realized they were not human.

"There's your dark kin, you eldar bastard," Kins said to Mhal as they neared the mountain, passing thorugh burning buildings and piles of dead strawheads. "How many of them do you think there'll be?"

"Too many," muttered Mhal. They neared the mountain. There! In the side of the mountain, was a definite shaft. No doubt, it was the vaunted entrance that Mhal was so worried about. They took a few steps towards it.

"HAHAHAHAH!" Everyone took cover in the ruins as flight of strange flying boards zipped overhead. Dark eldar mounted them and fired their alien guns down. A few Water Dogs spurted blood and dropped. Kins collected a fallen lasgun as he ducked behind a wall with Mhal.

"It's Sectraa, the leader of the dark eldar here," whispered Mhal. "He's the one with the hood." Kins peeked over the wall to see the dark eldar had dismounted and were probably moving thorugh the ruins, hunting them. "Go, now. To the tunnel, get Cav."

"Me? No. You do it." It wasn't just because Cav was a strawhead, it was because he'd be exposing himself. No, it wasn't even that. It was just because Kins would be exposing himself. How could he have time to hate Cav with the dark eldar right there? Perhaps, if he were here, Lystartro would remind him of the lessons of Rynn's World.

"The Emperor protects," Kins whispered, before shooting out to get to the tunnel. He leapt down and ran the rest of the way, to the very bottom.

"Commissar?" Cav asked from beneath the bulk of a mechanical spider. Kins raised his pistol and lasgun as the two machines in the room attacked him. Both fell to the floor, hissing with smoke. Kins tossed Cav a lasgun.

"Who's this…Cav?" Kins asked, deciding not to use the other word.

"Issinel," Cav said as the girl backed away in fear. "She can stay here." He looked at Kins. "I…um…thank you commissar. The door there is still closed. I wouldn't open it, I just couldn't." Kins looked at the closed door and nodded.

"Very well. There's a hell of a fight going on uptop." He turned to leave. "And…well…good job, Cav." He led the young PDFer back up the shaft. But just as they reached the surface, they jumped aside.

"WAAAAAGH!" cried a mad ork who flew upon a rocket as he shot down the chute. For a moment, Kins caught a glimse of wide yellow eyes and an enlarged brain that bulged out of the top of a broken skull. An ork psyker.

Both jumped away from the hole as an explosion of psyker energy shot out of it like fire. The energy disappeared quickly.

"Issinel!" Cav cried, running back down.

"Stop!" Kins shouted, "it's dangerous!" at the end of the short run back down, they found the chamber had changed. The wall with the runes was gone. The ork responsible was now a pile of ash: burnt to nothing from his suicidal expendature.

"They did it," whispered Issinel in joy. "They did it. In the end, not even the Imperials could hold the vault shut. The orks." Kins considered killing her, but chose not to. That idiot look on her face couldn't belong to anyone who could ever give him trouble.

"Come on," Kins said, dragging Cav back out. They passed by several Halivorians on the way out, pushing past them as they walked like pilgrims to the opened vault. "Let the damned eldar deal with it now."

"Wait," Cav said, "we shouldn't just leave. That Sectraa man, whatever he wants, we can't let him have." Kins stopped and grinned on the inside. There it was, that devotion to duty that all guardsmen should have. To make it worse, Cav was right. They should press into the mountain, whatever Sectraa is looking for.

"Right then," Kins replied, "follow me." He and Cav rushed off into the city, disappearing among the ruins. Moments later an evil shadow descended to the ground before the chute.

…

Sectraa jumped off his skyboard and hurried down into the chute. His cold, reddish eyes were hot with excitement. Though many centuries old, he was as agitated as an excited child with this victory. The Halivorians had been good servants, but the final key was opened by the orks. Now it was out before him, as bare as a slave's body that had been made ready for torture. There it was, for him to clasp. Now this boring, dragging conflict in Urbanis 1 was over for him. True joys awaited his depraved senses as he stepped into the chamber.

"Step back," he ordered to the Halivorians who had swarmed down here like rats to food. So ignorant, so numerous. Humans made him sick. He was glad to finally be rid of them. "BACK!" His voice cut like steel and the humans who had entered the hole the ork had made were shrinking into the wall.

"Where is the angel?"

"What happens now?" Sectraa didn't want to waste time on their questions. He stepped through the hole, pushing aside a pair of older men. Upon sensing his arrival, the vault he had just stepped into came to life.

Before him, a large light burst into life, covering the short wraithbone hallway he had entered with teal light. The hallway beyond opened up into a gargantuan chamber, which was revealed piece by piece as, one by one, lights came on. Sectraa stepped through and into the heart of the vault.

All the water from a small lake could fit in this ovoid cavern. The walls were plated with smooth wraithbone and the lights from complex eldar circuitry were woven delicately through it like threadwork. Odd wraithbone devices grew from the walls. Their purposes were only barely hinted at by their flowery shapes. But Sectraa had no time for them. His attention was fixed on the middle.

In the center of the gargantuan vault was a raised section of floor, like some altar to the craftworlds. The stairs leading to it looked like crossed swords made into wraithbone, rather than the carvings that they were. Rising up was the flying half arch of an eldar webway gate, woven with circuitry that would make anything worked into the walls look primitive. To the humans who came in after him, the gate looked like the neck of a swan. To Sectraa, it was a hook, a meathook.

"Come in, bunch in," Sectraa called behind him, grinning as he stepped up the sword-stairs to the webway gate and pressed his finger onto its activation jewel, which jutted from the side as naturally as a crystal that had grown there. With a hum, the arching structure began to pulse with an ethereal glow, as though lit from within. A shimmering, crackling nimbus of energy appeared within the air in the arch's grip. It was like a miniature storm was being called into being. Amazed at the show, more of the dozens of Halivorians came forth. Their wondering eyes turned upwards when the sky began to crack.

Sectraa looked up and saw a chasm of light breaking across the ceiling. The mountain was opening its jaws to the open air. And from it, Sectraa knew, would come the warriors of the Dark City. It would be a mocking reflection of local human superstitions about this place. There was no angel, only the hunger of Commorragh!

…

_Hurry_! Kiskantsh was breathless. He had collected as many Dire Avengers as he could from his warriors. Exarch Nhimeia stepped up beside him, a silvery blade in his hands, slashing down another dark kin. Kiskantsh's warlocks were all slain, torn apart by the ghastly talos, which were scattering the melee and killing any human within reach. The 112th were dispersing, fleeing those evil machines.

_The mountain is opening! _the exarch said. The farseer did not need to be told that. Upon the mountainside, he could see a great crack opening as the gates to the vault rolled back. _The titan must be roused._ Kiskantsh nodded and beckoned. He and eight noble Dire Avengers ran from the fighting, slipping through the ruins of the human city as fast as their eldar feet could move. Kiskantsh dodged over a pile of rubble and landed on his feet. Nhimeia jumped after him, decapitating a Halivorian who jumped from the shadows. They were gone before the dead human hit the ground. Leaving the battle behind them was different to the eldar farseer. Where a man like Kins or Arcantillius would think it a dreadful act of cowardice, the farseer knew it was a needed sacrifice. It was why they needed human help, to dampen eldar losses, for the battle for the gate would be desperate. As humans behind him died, Kiskantsh knew it was for the best.

They raced to the mountainside just as the mountain door finished opening. Now, a half kilometer up, there was a huge opening in the rock, both long and narrow, like a crack.

_My lord farseer! _Nhimeia shouted. Kiskantsh saw one of the habs they'd ran past collapse as the two talos tore through them like wet paper, thirsting for eldar blood. There was nowhere to hide except...

The eldar ran down the chute. All made it to safety, except the last Dire Avenger. She was just entering when a cruel claw grabbed her from behind and tore her back out. Kiskantsh heard her terrible scream, following him in the dark as he descended down into the abyss.

_Stop _whispered the farseer suddenly. He could sense it, humming on the edge of thought. It was a dancer in the edge of his sight, a song that lay just beyond his hearing and a sensation that his skin just forgot. It was the guardian of the gate. It was down here. Kiskantsh saw down and instructed the Dire Avengers to guard him. His mind reached out to the ancient guardian.

Today, a giant would walk on Essendrav.

…

Cav crouched behind the fallen hab as he considered all the things Kins had told him. Mhal was working with the eldar, Lystartro was dead, Frens worked for the inquisition and the Imperial Guard were trying to knock Skullkicker out of the war. All those, added to the two great machines who had just killed that eldar outside the chute, was overwhelming. He now focused on survival. Those machines were on the hunt for more lives.

"They look like the spider that took me," Cav noted.

"Same builders," replied Kins. They slowly backed away, deeper into the ruins. He was a warrior, but no hearthguard could kill those monsters with a lasgun.

Both of them froze when Arcantillius and a squad of the 112th slipped in beside them.

"Commissar, I'm glad you live," whispered Arcantillius, ever formal, even covered in blood and bleeding. Kins nodded. "Cav, you're alive."

"Oddly enough," replied Cav. "Where's Mhal?" No one had an answer.

Just then, there was an explosion. One of the machines shuddered as a grenade went off beneath it, throwing it to one side. It landed on the ground and raised itself back up. Cav thought it looked angry as it overturned rocks, looking for the source. Another explosion tore off its right claw. Both machines looked clumsy, going through the ruins.

Just then, Mhal jumped from a shadow, his sword cleaving one of the legs from the nearest machine. He dodged back as it snapped at him and jumped beneath it, stabbing its body. The other reached beneath its companion, and Cav saw Mhal sever its claw.

Then, there was a prismatic flash of light, bursting brilliantly along the hull of the machine Mhal had just attacked. A flaming hole burst into its metal carapace. It turned to confront its attacker.

A sleek eldar craft had just emerged from the ruins, its single cannon blowing another hole in the machine. Cav heard no noise beyond a shrill squeal of energy. The first machine fell as Mhal jumped out from beneath the second one and stabbed it from behind. The machine jolted like a man startled, then fell forward. Its flying vanished and it hit the ground with a heavy thud.

"YEAH!" A knot of PDF boys emerged from the ruins, waving to Mhal and shaking their grenades. Cav's face lit up and he stood up.

"Hey!" Cav shouted to them. He felt powerful arms pull him back into cover.

"Down!" Kins shouted as the eldar vehicle disappeared behind a curtain of fire. Bits of it flew in all directions, shattered, like a broken window. Cav didn't have time to ponder why Kins, of all people, had chosen to save him. He felt his breath stolen when the largest ork he had ever seen slammed down atop the wrecked alien machines.

Three rocket packs, two huge claws, an armoured suit that was practically a vehicle and huge guns. Cav hoped this was Skullkicker himself, only because he prayed that nowhere else within this sector was there an ork of that size.

Mhal turned to run and was sent sprawling towards Cav by a backhand from the ork. The giant roared as his packs fired up again and lifted his huge weight towards the opening.

"WAAAAGH!" the sound of orks filled the ruin.

"The old enemy!" Arcantillius shouted as two 112th ran to collect Mhal. The 89th ran towards them too, just as ork warriors began to climb out of the ruins. They came through open doors, down alleys and in thick knots that barreled down roads. At once, the guardsmen fired. Cav shouted to his soldiers and yelled out his orders, organizing them into fire teams that would hit the biggest concentrations of aliens.

"Grenades! Away!" Cav shouted. Moments later, a group of orks that were crouched in a crater were blasted apart. "Curth!" he shouted to his friend, "take five and help the captain. Tigerson! Shoot that one!" he pointed to an ork hefting a rocket launcher. Tigerson's aim was good and the creature died when a shot detonated its rocket.

"Cav!" Mieel jumped in beside him. "I'm sorry…"

"Shut up and shoot!" Cav shouted, helping Kins gun down a horn-helmed greenskin that was firing at them from a rooftop.

"At what?" Ork rounds were skipping off the ground around them.

"Anything!" Cav screamed. Behind him, the mountain had cracked. It would be such a shame to die in this furious crossfire after coming all this way. Guardsmen and PDF fought side by side against the orks as they emerged. It was pure firepower: no greenskins charged. Here, they would win or be shot to death.

Cav aimed at a trio of orks in a window, only to see them all shot in the head and topple down. There were very few of the aliens near the part of the city he was aiming at. As more came in, they too were felled by precise shots. It was the work of the eldar: Mhal's false stormtroopers. What did it matter what they were? They created dead orks. Cav fought on.

…

Sectraa didn't even turn his head when Skullkicker came down and landed near the edge of the cavern. The huge ork tore open a side of the wall, revealing a hallway behind it. Sectraa didn't even care when Skullkicker's machine guns cut down a number of Halivorians, who crouched in terror. He didn't take his eyes from the portal.

"Ork!" he heard someone shout. Shots cracked off, forcing Skullkicker in through the hall he had revealed. "Sectraa?"

"Shut up!" roared the evil eldar with a slash of his sword. The speaker, a yellow-haired young fighter, fell back. His neck was a crimson fountain.

"Why did you…" the words didn't finish. The air beneath the arch shimmered like glass. The very air seemed solid and shivered, like a disturbed pool. From the shimmering air came a long Invader class raider anti-grav skiff. Its closed deck was studded with firing holes for the warriors inside. From the prow port gazed the masked face of the archon himself. Always the first one into battle. Sectraa knew it would be the archon's death, one day.

"What…what is that?" someone whispered. "Where's the angel?" Sectraa smiled evily as a second invader crept from the webway. Marching out alongside them came the elite of the Slaughterfeast Kabal. They were not the ragged looters Sectraa had, or vile, naked mandrakes. Dressed in their daemon-faced helmets and clad in warp-touched armour, they were the Black Phalanx. Their elongated splinter rifles were grafted to their forearms, leaving their hands free to wield mauls and nets.

The Black Phalan advanced on the Halivorians, surrounding them. The second invader opened its ramp, to let the new slaves aboard.

_Well done Sectraa _said the voice of the archon, broadcast from the speakers on his invader. Behind him, raider after raider was emerging, to carry the lesser warriors of the Slaughterfeast kabal into battle. Sectraa could see them upon the decks, armed and prepared to kill. They were his kin, his true allies. At last, the Halivorians could go.

_Here is my first tribute to you, my lord _Sectraa said with a bow as shivering Halivorians were herded like cattle up into the midnight bowels of the invader. The mauls of the Black Phalanx made them move if they did not. He spotted Issinel and smiled, unfolding his claws.

_Are you sure this will be as easy as you promised?_ asked the archon.

_These humans are at war with the orks. I know of plenty refugee camps. Tens of thousands of people to fatten the cages_ Sectraa could see the huge anti-grav cages the raiders were towing. He clasped Issinel by the shoulder. She cried as he pulled her away and pinned her against the side of the invader. _And some Alaitoc eldar too, if we are lucky _He looked into Issinel's beautiful, staring eyes, now glossy with tears. There was no anger at his betrayal in them, not even defiance. As the last Halivorians were herded aboard and the invader disappeared into the webway with them, she did nothing but sob.

So weak.

Sectraa's claws dug into her flesh. Bright red blood dribbled down her clothes. She screamed and thrashed, but Sectraa kept her pinned. His claws tore and tore and tore. He finally stepped back. Issinel's clothes were torn and bloody while her head had been flayed right down to the skull. Her bald head glistened in the lights of the dark eldar raiding force as he fell down, slowly dying. Her empty sockets did not see the raiders rise up and fly out of the chamber to attack Ersonia.

_You've had your reward _the archon said, _now, get aboard and help _Sectraa stepped up the boarding ramp and into the invader. It joined the last dark eldar skiff and soared outside to war.

On the ground, Issinel gave one last whimper and finally died.


	15. The Angel

Cav ducked as the first line of black energy shot down from the mountain. An alien craft had just emerged and rained death down at random. He saw an ork get hit. When it fell in two, Cav saw its midsection had been disintegrated. More shots came down. One cut down into his group. Cav felt his hair stand on end.

"Everyone alright?" asked Cav, looking around. Everyone, including Kins and Arcantillius, was running from the mountain. The shot had missed, but the stone it had hit had disappeared. Mhal remained, standing unsteadily up. He was still dazed, but the appearance of the new aliens shook him to his feet. Cav helped him forward as energy blasts disintegrated holes into the rock around them. They jumped into a hab with everyone else and paused.

"They've come to raid you, to take as many prisoners as they can," Mhal gasped with all the strength he had. "Thousands of people are in danger. You don't want to know what they do to their captives."

"I have an idea," Cav replied. For once, he was sure he had found an enemy he hated more than the orks. He would die to kill some of Sectraa's ilk. At least then he could be free of this awful city. "So what do we do?"

"Get back to the Imperial Guard and stay with them," Mhal replied. "My farseer could activate the titan, I don't know. But you have to get to safety. They won't attack the Imperial Guard."

"Who then if not the guard?" asked Arcantillius.

"They're slavers. They'll attack whoever can't defend themselves. I'll bet this war will have made a lot of refugees. They'll zip past the army, zip past the orks and attack them," Mhal coughed and beat his chest. "You have to keep yourselves safe. My people are probably falling back to safety now…" Kins looked Mhal in the face.

"They're not your people Mhal, you're not an eldar. You are a human, like the Emperor, not a bloody xenos!" Kins spat. Mhal coughed again and shook his head.

"What the hell has humanity ever given me?" he asked.

"Damn it, you said you knew how to fight them!"

"They're attackin en mass. They need the portal to fall back to, assuming they don't have webway portals," replied Mhal. "They're built to be fast, not strong, so that's why they can't face your armies. That's why you have to fall back." Cav turned towards the door. He squeezed his lasgun in anger.

"Form up on me 89th," Cav said. His boys obeyed. Eldar or not, these creatures were going to despoil his home. He thought about the tattoo on his arm and what it meant. He thought of his home, how it was undefended. These dark eldar would have a feast if they found it.

"Mhal said we should get back to guard lines," Arcantillius replied. "I order you to come. A more efficient retaliation can be organized…"

"They'll be long gone if they're as fast as Mhal thinks," Cav said. His young comrades agreed. "I hate this place. I really don't mind if I leave it. Come on, let's kill some of these aliens." Mhal coughed.

"Well, I don't think I'm walking far, so I'm staying," he said. Arcantillius shook his head and turned. Kins agreed. But Cav disagreed and took both men aside to solemly tell them of a plan he had. If successful, it could kill many of these dark eldar enemies. He needed some of them to stay for it to work. When he was done, Arcantillius and Kins were in agreement.

The boys of the 89th and five 112th guardsmen were allowed to leave to rejoin imperial lines. Cav remained behind, determined to see his plan through.

…

Ralreth stalked across the ruins, splinter rifle raised, as the rest of his squad moved with him. The main force had passed over them, but the troops on the ground still had some killing to do. If there were more Halivorians in these ruined habs, Ralreth would taste their blood. As for his craftworld enemies, there was no sign.

Marshrax raised his pulse rifle and shot a wounded ork as it dragged itself down a heavily shelled road. The greenskins around the mountain had been broken by the raiders as they passed by. Now, only twitching survivors remained.

Suddenly, the habs on either side of them lit up with lasfire. Ralreth felt a burning shot pierce his forearm. To his right, Skrealsh dropped, a hole in his head. Marshrax dodged back, firing his pulse rifle at the windows. He and Ralreth fled down the way they came as the rest of their squad was massacred: the last twitching corpse going still as shots tore through it.

_Curse them to Slaanesh! _Marshrax shrieked in disgust. _Why must we take this assignment? _Ralreth messaged Sectraa, tapping in the warning on his forearm communicator. He took one quick look behind him as he ran. In a slide of his foot, he tripped Marshrax and rolled into the shadows.

A singing lasbolt lashed from the shadows and towards the dark eldar, clipping off the top of Marshrax's head rather than aiming for the faster, harder target.

Ralreth smiled at his own cunning. He never liked Marshrax anyway, using alien weapons. If anyone saw that, he had a lie already planned. Ralreth slipped into the darkness, his mind endlessly plotting away. If Ralreth was ever to be archon, he had to be a schemer.

…

The first squad of dark eldar had been an easy kill, but Mhal warned that there would be more. If there were mandrakes around, they would come. Cav and his friends listened to Mhal's lecture on mandrakes and how to fight them. They waited in silence, in tense silence, for a full hour.

When the third hour began, Arcantillius and the survivors of his group were finally able to leave. Kins granted them permission to return to Imperial lines after Arcantillius convinced him the worst of the dark eldar were gone. Mieel went with Arcantillius, as did two other 89th boys who begged Cav to let them leave. Mieel was among them. His departure was no loss.

And so they waited, the day slowly ticking away.

Around them, watching with black eyes, flocks of mandrakes had gathered in the dark, to strike and kill the humans who waited within.

…

_I have it _the farseer said, _But the warriors of the Black Phalanx stand in our way. We cannot get by them. We must wait for the ork to open the gate and move at the last moment _

_Yes _replied the exarch. A moment later, the farseer gave a signal. The Dire Avengers advanced into the vault just as the sound of shooting broke the air. They ran out to find Skullkicker assaulting the Black Phalanx. They fled across the floor, towards the hallway in the side of the room. Kiskantsh could sense the titan, awake now, behind the walls. They would be united soon.

Splinter rifles cut down two Dire Avengers. Kiskantch ducked as Skulkicker dove on them, all claws and anger. He ran across the floor and into the hall.

_Run my lord farseer! _Nhimeia's last words were as Skullkicker twisted his noble body in two. The Black Phalanx was retreating, letting the Alaitoc warriors and Skullkicker kill one another. As the last brave eldar was murdered, Skullkicker twisted his head to search for the farseer.

…

They'd arrived to find the landing zone in disarray. Curth and his 89th comrades could hear the shooting long before they saw anything. Stepping through crater-filled streets, passing dead humans and orks, it was like walking through a vision of a war-hell. As he continued, he and the boys saw signs of a third presence.

"I thought Mhal said they wouldn't attack us," Tigerson cursed as they passed a leman russ that had been gutted by a weapon that made perfect holes in its side and created no smoke.

"I guess he was wrong," replied Curth in frustration. They were soon back amidst the fighting, making vox contact with other platoons and getting into as good a position as they could hope for. They found the raider, swamped by ork forces, battling street-to-street in the perimeter around their landing zone, which was lobbing shells into ork forces from behind a screen of landers. Through the wartorn streets and across noisy city blocks, they hurried, dodging orks. When they got through the orks and began to pass by the dark uniformed Chazzan offworlders, the group ran faster.

Within five minutes, the Chazzans directed them to the rest of the regiment and the rest of the 89th. At long last, they were back together.

"They said they encountered dark eldar," Curth heard a number of 112th officers speak into their vox sets. Command was ignorant to the presence of the dark eldar. So apparently the dark eldar were not attacking the guardsmen en mass, but in quick, lightning raids on isolated forces. Of course, it was just as Mhal had described them. In a lot of ways, they were the antithesis of the orks. Low in number, subtle and silent opposed to the innumerable violence brought by the orkish foe. But both shared the same thirst for battle and bloodshed, so they were more like different faces of the same beast rather than separate monsters.

Curth reloaded his lasgun and ducked into the crater he had jumped into. Stolce, beside him, was hard-eyed and looked angry. He was not the whimpy victim Curth loved to pick on, but a veteran fighter with a face full of dirt. He looked like one of the 112th as he reloaded his lasgun and waved orders to other craters.

"So what do they look like?" Stolce asked, aiming into the ruins, towards the ruined tower the orks had garrisoned. The flashes of muzzles lit up its windows. Cannon hadn't brought it down yet because there were none available. Across this blasted patch of tortured city, there were only living men to fight the greenskins.

"A lot like us, but slim and hairless," Curth saw horned shadows leap out of the dust blown up by a round of orkish artillery. He aimed and waited as those shapes surfaced to turn into charging alien barbarians with scrappy blades. His lasgun, and the lasguns of others, picked orks off their feet. A heavy orkish bullet skipped off the lip of his crater. Curth didn't duck down.

"Two alien species? What do you think command'll do?"

"Prolly chase them," Curth looked for targets. Those windows were mighty hard to hit from this range and ammo was brutally limited. "They'd need the navy to run down the dark eldar though."

"I just hope they get them. The orks are enough, thank you," Stolce replied. Tigerson, the only other occupant of the crater, elbowed Stolce in the ribs.

"Shut up and fight."

"Don't hit me when I'm shooting or I'll have you written up," Stolce snapped back. Tigerson jolted, startled. Curth smiled, knowing Stolce had him outranked. Stolce, with his misfit mother, could give Tigerson the ganger a flogging for insubordination. Strange.

Another ork shell whistled and exploded behind them. Another whistle and a hellish burst of dirt showered soil and rubble into their crater. There were human body parts mixed in with it. Curth saw a man with half his head blown off stagger past his crater, still alive through some cruel humor of nature. An ork shot put him down.

"I wish someone could kill those damn mortars!" Stolce screamed, shooting. Over the chaos of firefights both near and far, Curth heard the sound of ork voices crying their inhuman words aloud with the fury of a storm. Through the haze of smoke and floating dust that covered the battlefield, he saw great dark shapes roll forwards.

"Back! Get back!" It was Stolce's captain, Sage, giving the order. The units rose up and fought backwards, shooting as they fell back into the ruins, sliding closer to the landing zone from which there would be no escape. Ork machine guns opened up. Lines of dust thrown up by impacting rounds traced paths of death through the retreating humans. He heard Tigerson laugh. That freak.

Curth ducked behind a rusted civilian car, a wreck since the war began, and loosed enough lasbolts to drop a hunched shadow coming out of the smoke from behind the advancing shapes. He ducked as shots hammered the car in reply. The ear-splitting CRASH CRASH of rounds impacting against the metal wrung in his hearing even after he'd left the car behind. Behind him, he could hear orks roaring in triumph.

So many. So many.

Before him, he saw a line of wrecked habs, reinforced with crude earthworks made by the raiders. Chazzans and an olive skinned people Curth didn't recognize were moving to make room for the Ersonians and Morchaghan warriors. He saw a number of support weapons amongst those houses. Standing with them was a grey sentinel, towering over men like a giant from a story. Curth liked to pretend it could stand against the orks that were chasing them. He vaulted over a pile of sandbags and joined Stolce and Tigerson behind them.

"Murvao Akaza," introduced an olive sergeant with a curling black moustache, "Second company of the 78th Masouel People's Guard."

"Curth Tajennis, first group, 89th Ersonian PDF Volunteers." It was volunteers, not shotstoppers. He would not tolerate that name. He would never again hear it. "Sorry we had to drag you all the way from Masouel, Akaza, but there's orks here." The sergeant smiled and aimed his laspistol.

"It is alright, we die in the Emperor's name!" Sergeant Akaza shouted.

"We die!" shouted the Masouel guardsmen in triumphant reply as the orks began to appar through the smoke of their falling shells. "We die?" That was their warcry? No matter how good Curth thought his 89th might be, he still knew his place. They were PDF volunteers. They would never be as brave as these men.

A flaming rocket shot from the smoke, slamming into the front of the sentinel. The burning giant's legs crumbled under it and it fell into a flaming heap. From the smoke came the orks, either on foot or stacked on the roofs of the treaded monstrosities that rolled out in support of their tidal advance. Curth felt his crotch grow wet. He hadn't even noticed the tingle of his bladders.

As one, the men of four Imperial worlds opened up on the enemy. Curth had seen orks die before and now the vision was growing old. Visions of green bodies being studded with lasfire filled his wartorn nightmares and would haunt him until he died. But the thrill never ceased. It didn't even register until late that the orks were extremely close. In a few seconds they would be upon them.

Curth saw the cannons nailed to the orkish machines cough, rather than shoot. Habs exploded, men were thrown into the air. Curth's hearing left him for a moment or two and dust washed over him. He waved it away from his face as he staggered back. He couldn't see the orks behind the dust. Oh no.

"Curth!" Stolce was beside him, still shooting. "Rally your group and bring them into that hab behind us. We'll coordinate a defense from there." Curth could only nod before orks swarmed out of the dust. So much for that plan.

"We die!" Akaza yelled bravely, raising a silver scimitar above his head. Around him, his fellows cheered as they drew elaborate swords to battle the orks. The Ersonians pulled from the orks, but the Masouels attacked them hand to hand.

It was blood for blood, an eye for an eye. Both sides carved one another apart. Men were thrown back, chopped apart by orks. Greenskinned savages were severed by imperial swordsmanship. The melee washed over everything. Curth could not hope to rally anyone in this chaos.

He ducked back as a big ork bowled two Masouels down to the ground. Curth shot the ork in its armoured face, but couldn't melt through its metallic mask. The ork swung at him with its axe and missed. Curth backed into Akaza, who jumped past him and hacked the ork's head off with a swing of his blade.

"Bravery, young one!" Akaza encouraged. "With courage, we cannot break!" Three charging orks hammered towards him. The sergeant backed away and was lost in the swirling press of bodies. Curth raised his lasgun and shot a passing ork in its huge arm. It didn't even turn towards him as its cleaver cut a guardsman and his upraised sword in two.

"Curth!" It was Stolce. He'd rallied his group and stood with Sage and a few score of Chazzan and Morchaghan soldiers behind the melee. Curth jumped into the group as they fired, gunning down barbarians that came close. Curth tensed as a hab that rose above the brawl gave way to the weight of an advancing ork tank.

"Rockets! Away!" a rough Chazzan voice ordered. Curth watched two rockets, one after another, swept from two teams of guardsmen with launchers. They hit the same spot, one hit after another. The tank stopped and flames licked out of its wound. There was a cheer, even in the heat of things.

They fought on, using their failing ammunition to kill dozens more greenskins. The sacrifice of the Masouels held the orks back long enough to reduce their ranks to a mere handful. The fight grew smaller until the orks withdrew, leaving a mere handful of cheering Masouels in the middle of the brawl. The noble sergeant was not among them.

"Back into position and prepare for the next wave!" the Chazzans ordered. Curth shivered as he did so. Even after scavenging what he could, he was still down to one power pack. If the orks returned, he would not have the ammunition to fight them off.

…

The humans who had once lived in Urbanis 1 and 2 now lived on the outskirts of Essendrav on the Imperial section of territory. Millions of people lived in miserable, starving conditions, praying to the Emperor to let the war end so they could go home. Hundreds were dying of disease brought on from the dirty water and lack of food. The sheer size of these camps meant they could not be patrolled very well, especially with the army committed to war in the city.

This raid would be delicious. Archon Naxcksif smiled with his metal fangs from the window of his invader while his raider fleet swept down through the evening towards the helpless humans. With most of the young men (and many women) away fighting for the city, the millions here were elderly or very young. So weak, so helpless, and yet so many of them. Archon Naxckisif knew his raiders would return home with fat cages full of weeping humans. Let the slaughter begin.

As his first raiders landed, the guns aboard them opened up, sewing carnage down upon the sparse sentries posted. The blackout bomb was dropped and it exploded, throwing a shockwave across the camp. All lights went out and all vox sets died. In silence and in darkness, the enslavement would happen. Let the evening scream!

Brutal dark eldar warriors leapt out of their raiders while other skiffs flew over them to deploy elsewhere, so to catch slaves with maximum efficiency. The dark soldiery of the kabal deployed silently and with lightning speed, in a formation they had rehearsed for years. Kicking human forms were dragged out of tents or dredged up by the nets of passing dark eldar raiders. Slowly, as the raiders ate into the encampment, the silence of the evening grew cold with the screams of refugees. Humans struggled as formations of shadows scooped them up. A few fought with their fists and were bludgeoned and dragged towards empty cages. No weapons were to be fired. They had not come to kill.

Yet, a weapon did fire. It turned a line of the evening into day as the laser broke through the darkening encampment. From his invader, the archon saw one of his raiders explode in half, its two pieces shooting into the tents as they were blown back, its crew turned to dust. A second shot engulfed a second raider, which simply ceased to be under the onslaught of bright laser fire.

Stunned, the archon turned his eyes to the attacker.

Towering over the encampment was a slender shadow upon two legs. Its arms were delicate cannons, its head was tall and kingly. It moved like an acrobat. It fired with perfect accuracy. From target to target, it aimed with precision. Delicate raiding vehicles were broken like twigs in a gale by the white laser energy it hurled down onto the murderous kabal fleet. Shot after shot, the titan punished them. The brutally effective dark eldar formation disintegrated as easily as their vehicles. What was a delightfully precise and rapid invasion became a hurried and disorderly retreat.

"An craftworld titan?" the archon cried in disbelief and rage as his invader wheeled around, abandoning his ground forces. Laser shots were turned aside by the invader's void shielding, but only barely. The windows glowed with light as laser shots crashed against their shields. Naxcksif felt the air grow hot and one of the windows shattered. Like his temper, the air grew even hotter. His only comfort was knowing that one titan could not wreck his whole force.

"Sectraa! You fool! How could you not have known about that!" the Naxcksif roared. He lunged at Sectraa with his sabre, but Sectraa dodged back and unfolded his claws. The archon's idiotic subordinate hissed.

"I said Alaitoc was here!" Sectraa shrieked. The archon lunged for him, but Sectraa was already jumping. Naxcksif's sword rammed itself into Sectraa's gut as Sectraa's claws clawed into his throat. Rolling on the ground, trying to wring the life out of the other, both dark eldar were cursing one another when the invader finally exploded.

But it was not the lonely titan that claimed them.

A wing of thunderbolts roared over the encampment, strafing the retreating aliens. Another wing passed, and another and another. The last dark eldar of the ill-fated raid died outside the camp, torn apart by heavy bolters.

Descending from the sky came several vultures, who searched the burning remnants of the raid for survivors. Bright white searchlights pierced the night, illuminating circles of the refugee camp. The pilots caught sights of tents, billowing in the blast of their engines, or fleeing refugees. Now and then, they sighted wrecked alien ships and twisted, broken cages.

They did not see an eldar titan or any signs that such a thing had ever been there.

To the pilots of those vultures, their orders to standby for a dark eldar attack had paid off. Had it not been for word from Urbanis 1 that those alien slavers were there, then they would not have been so swift.

Years later, survivors would speak of an angel of the Emperor that showed up, spears in hand, to rain death onto the raiders of shadow.


	16. tomorrow, you will be at war

They came at sundown.

First, shots came up at them from the street, then guardsmen at the windows said they saw shadows in the dark, moving shadows. Mandrakes. Kins and Cav collaborated, planning where they would place their lanterns. Mhal had recommended they lure the mandrakes into a trap.

"We fall back into the basement," Cav explained as he and Kins crouched in the hab's abandoned cellar. It was dark down here. Not even a mandrake could see through this gloom. "The men form a firing line and wait in the dark. I'll draw them down and everyone can ambush them when they hit me. We turn on our lanterns so the mandrakes can't hide and kill them all." Kins was startled, having planned to use Mhal as bait. He suggested it.

"But Mhal is injured. We need someone faster, like me. Besides, he's a better shot. If I'm not quick enough, he can kill them fast while they finish me off," Cav continued. Kins nodded and looked at the stairway. Mhal stood in it, gun in hand, leaning against the wall.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, "the dark kin will take their time. It will not be an easy death."

"But you said mandrakes love to carve and torture," Cav replied. "So they'll all go for me. Besides…" he patted his chest, "I'm just a stripling. I think they'll just think they've found some hapless whelp. They'll come at me like bullies, guard down, and we get them." Mhal nodded solemnly and left to rally the others.

Moments later, Cav was wandering through the empty hab, armed with only a lantern. He was dressed in rags, to appear to be a noncombatant. He knew what to look for, what to watch for. He was afraid, there was no denying it. Even with his plan in motion, the threat of the unknowable dark eldar frightened him. When he heard the door open, he jumped and crept through the silent hab and peeked down the hall that led to the door.

The door was open, letting the night in. The hall was empty.

Cav whimpered and ran the way he came, towards the entrance to the cellar. He stopped in the room where the stairs leading down were and looked behind him.

No one there in the night-blackness that enshrouded the whole ruined hab. The flicker of his lantern promised him there was nothing in the room except himself. Mhal's education assured him otherwise.

His eyes only saw shadows but Mhal's words guaranteed him that mandrake eyes were watching him. The silence was a physical thing, coating everything like a sheet. He could hear his own breathing and his own fear. His senses saw nothing, so why run?

Darkness and silence. The lantern's ghostly light showed him only blank walls and floors, populated only by broken glass and dust. Hollow shadows danced at the edge of his vision and unseen specters that he imagined were there lurked in all around him like a besieging army.

And yet, there was nothing here.

A shadow moved, or was it just the light? Cav whimpered and stepped back fearfully, his face a mask of terror. It was what victims of bullies did when cornered.

Cav could hear Mhal's voice in his head, telling him they were in the room with him, telling him to run. Unable to bear the silence any longer, Cav turned and ran down the cellar stairs. As soon as he turned, a blade flashed from the shadows. His lantern fell to the floor.

Cav ran down the flight of stairs, away from nothing. Yet something tackled him from behind. He fell with it down the stairs and hit the bottom in pitch darkness. Cav screamed as he felt taloned hands turn his body around. He felt hot pain against his face. He heard dozens of cold laughs chill the night.

"Lanterns on!" roared Curth's voice.

Cav's eyes must have been closed, because he heard lasguns fire and inhuman screams. Bodies fell around him. The trap was a success. As the last gunshot died, Cav heard his squad run up around him.

He did not hear them when they spoke.

…

Mhal stood in the doorway on the ruined hab. Behind him stood his outcast friends, still dressed as stormtroopers. The lights of their waveserpent lit up the windows. In the night sky, Kins could make out dancing stars. Eldar ships of Alaitoc, he was sure.

"We have just received word that the kabal is broken. Our work here is done. If that kabal was allowed to flourish on the profit of this raid, it would have brought pain to Alaitoc, " replied Mhal, leaning the wall for stability. "The dark kin have fallen back. Your people are safe from them." Kins snorted.

"So we can fight on alone?" he asked. Mhal gave a subtle nod.

"I am sorry, but you know we cannot fight alongside you as brothers…"

"What? We fought…"

"In the open," Mhal finished. Kins nodded, as did Arcantillius, as did the other 112th who had come to bid farewell to their heretical ally.

"I promise I will not speak of you to the inquisition," swore Arcantillius proudly. Mhal looked at Kins, who merely nodded. Even if it was the right thing to do, it still felt wrong. But who would ever know? He could just say Frens had uncovered dark eldar, rather than Mhal and his Alaitoc craftworld kin.

"Will Cav make it?" Mhal asked, "if you want, we can take him and restore…"

"He belongs here, among his own kind," Kins replied. "If he dies, so be it. Let the ground of his home embrace him." Mhal nodded and said something in another language to the eldar, who left for the wave serpent. Mhal cleared his throat.

"May the spirits guide you," he said.

"The Emperor protects," Kins answered. Mhal turned and walked aboard the wave serpent. The hatch closed and it soared off and vanished like a glass ghost into the urban wilderness. Moments later, a star rose from the city to join the night. Kins watched it go. The dancing stars disappeared and the eldar were gone.

"Come on," Kins said to Arcantillius. "Get that stretcher Mhal gave us and take Cav out of here."

…

That morning, the inquisitor landed. Frens and his master Dolman searched the mountain. They found remnants of dark eldar forces, dead guardsmen and dead insurgents. But there was no trace of craftworld eldar, not even a single round of their ammunition. The mountain was normal. There were no holes in it anywhere. Dolman's official report to his comrades in the Ordo Xenos spoke only of dark eldar.

As for Frens…

"Well, I was so sure there were craftworlders here," Frens said to Dolman as they walked back towards the inquisitorial lander, escorted by Dolman's bodyguard.

"Still, you have done well," Dolman replied. "I will see to it…"

A shot rang out from the ruins. Dolman's bodyguard clustered around their master and scanned the ruins. No sign of the shooter, not even a shadow. Dolman hurried aboard, warning of orks while his bodyguard dragged Frens up the ramp, his lifeblood gushing from his chest.

…

"Got you, you bastard," Yueka hissed vengefully at the man who betrayed her people to scrutiny. She looked up from her scope, reloaded her rifle and was gone.

…

The orks let up after sundown. All throughout the night, the Imperial navy launched raids against ork forces massing for the morning's assault. Their fights lit up the horizon and let Curth have very little sleep. When the morning came, he said his prayers and loaded his last power cell into his lasgun.

For the first time since coming here, the 89th fought as one. One hundred boys, the last survivors of four hundred, joined in the fight with the 112th Morchaghan, also fighting as one. They manned a single long trench that cut across the flattened city, shooting out at waves of orks who charged from the distant ruins, guns blazing. They all ducked down when a trio of bright red ork planes cruised across the sky, leaving soot in their wake. Reports from other sectors spoke of worse attacks. It was hardly encouraging to know that this sector was being softly hit compared to some places.

The withering lasfire, autocannons and whistling mortar rounds heaved upon them by the combined group was enough to break the orkish charge. The group came forward, all guns and anger, but could not break through. Explosions hurled green bodies high into the air. Autocannons ripped them off their feet. Lasbolts were furious enough to whittle their numbers down. Curth expended his last shot and called for another pack. None came, so he had to watch as the last few orks were shot down without him.

It was a victory, but not a victory.

Vox reports came in from other sectors. They had to fall back. Colonel Vistigo, who had at last taken the field, withdrew his regiment. Curth and Stolce shared command of the 89th as Malreth was dead and Cav was dying. Poor Cav. Curth didn't see Kins and Arcantillius emerge from the early morning light with him on a stretcher, but he knew of his condition. Another dead friend, or soon to be.

The two units moved back closer to the sound of fighting and closer to those vital landers. As they came within sight of the drop zone's efensive perimeter, they saw how badly they were needed.

The guardsmen were fighting desperately against the orkish crowd. Tanks fired into the aliens at close range. Some were close enough to drive over them. Ramshackle orkish fighting machines towered over the crowd, pouring clumsy shells into Imperial lines. The imperial ring was hard pressed by the sea surrounding it. Curth grimly felt how close it was to total collapse.

…

Kins activated his chainsword and held it in both hands as the nearest orks rushed them. The column of guardsmen did what they could, but the wounded orks made it to him. A backhanded swing killed one and the second was dropped by several bayonetes, but the third cleaved down a veteran 112th before being cut down in turn by lasbolts. Vistigo snapped for disciplined vollies. Firing from cover at the orkish puddle that lashed against the Imperial ring seemed so hopeless. There were so many. It grew worse when the cloudless sky began to thunder.

"Rocket-berzerkers!" Kins roared. He dodged to one side as a heavy ork warrior slammed down, his goggled eyes wide in alien rage. Its jagged, rusty blade hacked off a human head. Others were slamming into the guardsmen, breaking bones or knocking men down. Those who landed too far away had a short run to get into melee. One ork even landed on his head, breaking his neck. Kins laughed at the sight, even with the orks among them.

He swung his blade and heard and saw its teeth roar into an orkish flank, sparking away the creature's armoured side and throwing up a spray of red drops as it chewed in. Kins drew his sword out in time to step back as the ork's fist swung at him. It hit his chainsword and almost knocked it from his hand. The rocket-berzerker surged forward and bowled Kins down. It chopped at him, missing as Kins rolled to one side. He struggled to stand back up as the ork came forth once more. The ork would have caught Kins on unsteady feet, if Curth had not stabbed it from behind. The ork elbowed Curth, knocking him out cold. But Kins had enough time to regain his footing and attack. The ork's neck opened up and it bled out.

The last rocket-berzerker fell a minute later. Two men for every ork. That was good, considering how they had dropped down on the 112th like that. Vistigo only had time to warn of more when a fat orkish plane roared overhead, dropping a stream of rocket-berzerkers down. Luckily, they went elsewhere.

The weary men now looked at the orkish force. Kins recited a quick prayer and they rushed to join their comrades.

…

Curth had been roused very crudely and was now, with a light head and an empty gun, rushing across a field of debris to fight to the death defending the drop site. He saw a trio of hellhounds pouring gouts of flame across the sea of green. He saw sandbag walls and mobile rockcrete barricades being swarmed by orks and brave guardsmen fight mindlessly to try and force them back. It was a good thing the orks didn't have the ring surrounded of they'd have no way of joining the others to die with them.

"Ammo?" Curth shouted as he joined the main force, fighting back the sea. His voice was a ghost in the noise. So much shouting and gunfire, so much of it. He saw an eviscerated guardsman on the floor and found himself fingering through his torn meat and exposed organs, looking for ammo. Nope. None.

"Ammo? I need a pack!" Curth screamed to the 89th. He saw many of them hadn't reloaded. They too were empty.

But his shouts were rewarded. He saw a Chazzan he didn't know hand him a power pack with bloody fingerprints on it. The Chazzan didn't wait or ask for thanks as he passed on. Curth reloaded. One power pack. Better make it count.

He surged through the throng of guardsmen with the 89th and found cracks in them to shoot thorugh. He imagined, somewhere, someone must have been shot by a friendly in this press. He stuck the snout of his lasgun out and peered at the orks, who were coming at them in lorries.

Heavy weapons were shredding their trucks and knocking them onto their sides, but too many were surviving these crashes and climbing out. Curth thanked the Emperor when the last truck was sent cartwheeling by a lascannon. Elsewhere, other parts of the defense were not so lucky. He took aim and fired, joining the hundreds of cracks that fought to fight the orks back.

He shot carefully, savouring each shot like an expensive wine. He made each shot his best shot ever, aiming for faces and firing only when he was surest of a hit. He slowed his breathing and whispered a litany of accuracy. He shot an ork with a red topknot in the stomach when he was aiming for the head. One shot at a time, he gently drained his ammunition.

All around him, others fought and died to hold the ring. Superior imperial tanks outgunned any orkish parodies that rolled up. Gunlines and weapons nests fought furiously to drive away the sea. Falling imperial shells blasted holes in the massed horde. Flamethrowers teams killed over a hundred orks in some cases.

Over their heads, dogfighting navy planes battled the enemy fliers. Smoking craft from both sides crashed into the city below. Though guardsmen died in the hundreds, they had something the orks did not. They were organized and precise, each element working to its fullest potential. The orks were just a disorganized crowd, attacking as a mass of individuals. As more shells fell on their crowded heads, their numbers began to grow less able to absorb losses so easily. The horde was melting, slowly softening and shrinking.

Curth noticed this but paid it little thought. If they won today, they would fight tomorrow with even less, prolly against the same odds. Damn it! Why did they have to come here? It was obvious they weren't killing Skullkicker in this way. He saw a navy bomb drop into the remaining horde. The blast was thrillingly large, slaughtering a whole Imperial Guard company's worth of orks. A few men cheered, but Curth did not. This would be a hollow victory. The orks would keep hitting them like this until they broke.

Curth fired another shot, still surprised his pack wasn't empty.

…

In another part of the line, Arcantillius and Kins were leading a company of Morchaghan guardsmen against a wave of orks who were rushing their sadbag wall. Kins struck out, killing his twelfth ork of the day. His chainsword was growing weaker with each kill. He'd need to clean to motor. If he survived.

"Fight on!" Arcantillius shouted regally, shooting an ork in the knee. "For the Emperor!" A few exhausted voices took up his cry. Another ork reached the line and was hacked down, but the one behind him used its spear to take one of the Chazzans in the neck. They were one man down, one less body for the rest of the operation.

"Do we have word from command on numbers? Or if there are any more xenos?" Kins shouted.

"No orders, but there's always more orks!" Arcantillius shouted back, helping to gun down an ork that was crawling over a mound of corpses. "Just stand and fight, orders will come once there's more flexibility in this battle!" Right now, it was just stand, fight and die. No orders needed for the most part. Kins readied his sword as another wave of orks came, running over the heaps of dead that protected the sandbags like a moat.

Those who made it through the lasguns faced bayonets. Some were killed quickly and some hacked into the packed guardsmen, killing with their massive swings. Kins lunged forward like a cobra and took a throat, before sweeping back to safety. To his left, a big ork was carving his axe into the men behind the bags. Kins lunged out again and cut a gauge from the alien's arm in a spray of black blood. It didn't even notice.

They didn't even notice them at first.

"Kill that one!" Kins shouted, his empty pistol still in its holster. The nearest guardsmen didn't need him to tell them to kill the brute. It died at last, six men dead by its hand. And still no one saw what was in the sky.

As the last orks of this wave were cut down, Kins looked to the sky to search for rocket-berzerkers and saw it at last.

Kins saw a wave of dark meteors shooting down from the clouds. Their dark-blue skins and flaming tops grew clearer the closer they got. They were Astartes drop pods, shooting down from the blue sky like missiles. They grew larger and closer until they slammed down into the edge of the shrinking ork horde one or two hundred meters in from of them. Orks disappeared under the doors that exploded open.

…

In the command centre, the transmission came unexpectedly into their vox sets.

"**To any Imperial commanders receiving this," **said the loud, masculine voice. **"This is Captain Histan of the Crimson Fists space marines. We are dropping two battle companies directly to your position. Stand by."**

The room cheered. The space marines had come to Ersonia at last.

…

The whole line cheered at the arrival of this unexpected aid. Kins felt his face smile like a child's. He watched a number of squads of giant Astartes warriors disembark from their pods. They wore dark blue with proud red heraldry. They tore into the orks like tanks against men. Never had Kins ever seen such a sight.

"Rise up!" Kins shouted. "To their aid! Charge!" All around the line, others were calling the order. The guardsmen stormed across the ground towards the marines, who carved and slaughtered their way through the orks with their huge blades and magnificent bolters.

…

"Space marines," Curth was breathless. He had heard of them and dreamed of seeing them. Now here they were, defending his world. When the order to charge came, he ran forward, cheering. When the guardsmen reached the ork horde, there was little left to do.

…

Songs of victory lasted long into the evening. Even in his medical tent, Cav could hear the men speak of the space marines who had just arrived. He heard Curth and Tigerson come to his side and tell him of how amazing the space marines fought. Cav smiled painfully and nodded. With their help, Cav got out of his cot and left the field hospital to greet the new recruits to the 89th that had just arrived with the wave of reinforcements.

Squinting in the white glow of the lanterns, Cav saw his beloved 89th all present, one hundred strong, in a smart parade formation. Their faces were lit up like a moon's surface, serious and hard, like men. Beside them, Kins stood, recording something on a notepad. All around them, ghostly cargo trucks roared in the lanterns and tramping guard regiments marched past them. Towering over their heads and rearing into the night sky were the pale forms of the landing ships. And they were all part of it, all one small part of this hive of military force.

Huddled in the dark in a messy parody of the 89th's intelligent block, was a wide-eyed unit of 17-year-old boys in freshly sewn PDF volunteer fatigues. They were emblazoned with clean 89th crests. Cav didn't think of them as fellow shotstoppers, not yet. They looked wonderously at Cav, awed and horrified at his appearance. It unnerved them to see a boy almost their own age in as bad a shape as Cav was in. The lacerations the mandrakes had made on his face were still red and done up with black stitching. Was this their future, standing before them?

"Two hundred and ten in all, schoolboys stolen from their mommies just like us. Still green, so I hear, except for powder monkey detail. I don't think any of them have died," Curth whispered, "so we're what? Three ten strong?" Cav nodded and winced at the pain moving his face had brought. "Kins says we're cutting them up amongst the groups as we see fit."

"I'll do it later. For now, you and Stolce split them. Tell them all about what we've seen, what to expect," Cav whispered back. "I want them better prepared than we were." Curth nodded and even threw in a salute. The brutish bully he'd once been would never have shown respect.

"Troop!" Cav said, stepping up to the new recruits, trying not to show he was leaning on Tigerson's shoulder, "I am Cav of the Angelspear hill tribe and of the 89th Ersonian PDF Volunteers. But you will call me sir. I think you already know why you're here. Tomorrow, when you wake, you will be under my command and the command of your group leaders. If you obey, you live. If you disobey, you die. Plain as that." As he spoke, a hazy-winged moth flew around his face, drawn by the light. He swatted at it with his left hand. His left arm ended at the elbow and his forearm was now a metal augmetic, complete with a hand and fingers. The moth flew too slowly and Cav caught and crushed it in his augmetic grip.

"Alright, to bed boys and dream of pretty girls. Because tomorrow, you will be at war."


End file.
